


Imaginary

by InfamousJava



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Drama, Magic, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2016-01-15
Packaged: 2018-05-02 21:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 28,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5264216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfamousJava/pseuds/InfamousJava
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry collapses after the final battle and wakes up in a muggle hospital, with the doctors claiming he has been in a coma since he was 11 years old, when he ran head-first into a wall. He has to come to terms with the fact that the Wizarding World was simply a figment of his imagination...or was it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

‘Avada Kedavra!’

‘Expelliarmus!’

The bang was like a cannon blast and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead centre of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. Harry saw Voldemort’s green jet meet his own spell, saw the Elder Wand fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of Nagini, spinning through the air towards the master it would not kill, who had come to take full possession of it at last. And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backwards, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upwards. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snake like face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy’s shell.

One shivering second of silence, the shock of the moment suspended: and then the tumult broke around Harry as the screams and the cheers and the roars of the watchers rent the air. The fierce new sun dazzled the windows as they thundered towards him, but before they could reach him, Harry let out a yell filled with agony as his body was overrun with sensations. He felt his body collapse even as someone cast a spell to cushion the hard, stone floor. Several panicked voices met his cry, as he arched his back, convulsing with pain.

He felt as though his skin was melting off. Someone held his hands down whilst another kept his head in place. He screeched loud and bright as his pain shifted, growing more intense and diminishing at the same time. It was worse than the pain he felt under the Cruciatus curse, and Harry continued to yell even as his voice became rough. He felt a new pain added to his throbbing head, a pressure in his skull that focused behind his eyes and pressed against his scalp.

The pain grew again. All of it flooding back to focus in his chest where it pulsed. No longer able to yell, Harry whimpered as his chest felt like it was going to explode. The people around him waited in silence as Harry’s body remained taut and the restraining hands were removed from his body.

Harry rolled to his side and managed one final ear-splitting scream as the pain erupted from his body, leaving what felt like a gaping, empty hole. The pain disappeared and a single plea for help escaped from his lips in a nearly silent whisper, as he felt a spot of light dance behind his closed eyelids. A catch in someone’s throat was the only response he heard before the world fell away from him and he blacked out.  
\-------------------------------------  
Harry awoke to a clean white ceiling above him and figured he was in the Hospital Wing. Glancing around the curtained space he found himself in for the formidable matron Madam Pomfrey, he groaned as his fatigued muscles twinged and he tried to recall what had caused him to end up in the hospital wing this time. Closing his eyes against the bright sunlight, he recalled the final battle with Voldemort, and his defeat of the Dark Lord. ‘I did it. Finally, it’s all over’ Harry thought to himself as he turned on the uncomfortable bed. 

With his eyes still closed, and his mind on his recent victory, Harry did not sense the footfalls that were heading towards his prone form.

“Mr. Potter!” a man’s voice cried from the left of Harry’s bed “You’re awake!” Harry’s eyes sprung open upon hearing the unfamiliar voice. A tall, thin, balding man was standing just beyond the pristine curtains, his eyes trained on Harry’s face. He was clothed in what appeared to be a long white coat, the type typically worn by muggle doctors, and smart black trousers, and clutched in his pale hands was a plastic clipboard. 

“Wha-who-who are you?” Harry stammered at the sight of a muggle in the most magical place he knew, Hogwarts. “How did you get here?” he asked the stranger.

A bemused expression flashed across the man’s face and he chuckled “I’m Dr. Adams and I got here the way I normally go to work, in my car.” Harry inwardly panicked at the thought of muggles being able to aces Hogwarts via the motorway, unless...

“Where is here?” demanded Harry, “What happened?” The man’s forehead creased slightly, before replying “You’re in hospital Mr. Potter. The Royal London Hospital to be exact. And I’m sorry to say that you’ve been here for a very long time, eight years in fact.” ‘What, eight years? How can I have possibly been here for eight years? I defeated Voldemort yesterday for Merlin’s sake’ Harry thought to himself.

“I think you have me confused with another person, you see-“Harry insisted before being cut off by the now frowning man. “Oh no, Mr. Potter, you’re definitely the right man, I should know what with you having been my patient since you arrived here. A most unfortunate accident, actually, the one that brought you here I mean. Severe trauma to the cranium following a sudden collision with a brick wall. Given your young age of eleven at the time, the incident caused heavy internal bleeding in your brain and put you straight into a coma. It’s a good thing you were in a busy area at the time of your accident and someone was able to call an ambulance, or you might not be here with me today.” The doctor grinned at Harry, whose eyes were wide and unblinking, before continuing “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and find a nurse to conduct some tests-“

But it was Harry’s turn to interrupt “What accident? When?” 

“Oh right. I believe the accident occurred on the 1st of September 1991, at Kings Cross Station. You ran your luggage trolley right into the wall” Dr. Adams chuckled again, before turning his back on Harry and exiting the curtained cubicle, which Harry now realised was full of beeping machines and muggle technology.

‘No. No. NO!’


	2. Chapter 2

Harry’s hands twisted in the crisp, white, sheets as his mind whirled with thoughts. ‘ _No I don’t believe it. I WON’T believe it! This has to be a mistake, or a joke, or, or...something!’_ He thought back to that fateful day at the train station, when he had in fact run headfirst into a wall. ‘ _But I went straight through it, and saw the Hogwarts express and met Ron for the first time...’_ Ron! How could Ron Weasley, his best friend in the world - along with Hermione, of course – not exist? He had to; he couldn’t just be a dream induced by Harry’s unconscious state. All the things Harry had done over the past 8 years and all the people he’d met were so clear, so vivid, that Harry refused to accept that they weren’t real.

He began to recall everything that had happened – fighting Voldemort and standing victorious over his dead body, walking into the Forbidden Forest to face Riddle, the agonising loss of Fred, Remus and Tonks, his mad, fiery flight in the Room of Requirement, rescuing Malfoy. ‘ _Malfoy! I’d probably be glad to see someone I dislike as much as him right now if he could explain what’s going on! That is, if he’s even real...’_ Harry’s thoughts journeyed further back through time: hunting Horcruxes, watching Snape murder Dumbledore as he watched, petrified, the fight at the Ministry of Magic and the loss of Sirius, Voldemort’s rebirth at the end of the Triwizard Tournament. ‘ _Aha! The scar that Wormtail gave me when he was taking my blood! That’ll prove that I’m not making this up’_ Harry thought to himself triumphantly. He looked eagerly at his left arm, but was met with an unmarked expanse of pale skin, and visibly drooped in disappointment, before continuing with his recollections.  

His mind was focused on the time he ventured into the Chamber of Secrets in second year, when another person entered the curtains and disrupted his train of thought. This time it was a short, rotund woman, dressed in pale blue scrubs, with her steely grey hair pulled back into a tight knot, which emphasised the stern look on her face, reminding him of the expression found so frequently on Professor McGonagall’s face. However, a pleasant smile graced her lined face as she looked upon his bedridden body.

“Ah, Mr. Potter. It’s good to see those lovely, green eyes of yours open at last” She winked at him, before bustling to the bedside table and placing a pitcher of water and an empty glass on. She then moved to one of the beeping machines around his bed, and started jotting down some notes on a clipboard that had been previously stashed under her arm. “You’ve become a favourite with most of the nurses here you know, because you’ve been here so long we feel like we know you, even if you don’t know us. I’m Nurse Paterson by the way, but because it’s you, you can call me Jenny.” She gave him another cheery smile, and gestured to the water jug, implying that he should have some. Suddenly feeling parched, Harry reached for the jug and poured himself a glass, before quickly downing the cool water.

“So Mr. Potter, if you don’t mind we have some tests to get on with.” She turned back to him, brandishing a sharp needle, and Harry inwardly groaned before extending his arm to the nurse.

......................................................

Three hours later, Harry was signing release forms in the main administration office of the hospital, under the watchful eye of Nurse Paterson. After several tests, including an excruciatingly embarrassing one that he’d prefer never to think of again, Harry had been ushered into a comfortable office to ‘discuss his options’, where he was once again faced with Dr. Adams.

“Mr. Potter, take a seat” said the doctor, vaguely gesturing to a padded chair in front of his desk. Harry sat awkwardly in the chair, still wearing his hospital gown. He hoped he could get out of here soon, or at least if he couldn’t leave that someone would bring him something other than the open backed gown to wear. “So how are we feeling?” the doctor questioned as he folded his arms across his chest and looked Harry up and down. “All finished with the tests?”

“Yes, but I still think that there’s been a mistake. I mean, I can’t have been in hospital for _eight years_ , I was at boarding school, you see, in Scotland...” Harry trailed off at the sight of the doctors frown.

“Now Mr. Potter, I know you’re confused about what’s happening but you have to accept the fact that you were in a coma. It can sometimes be difficult to acknowledge this, and I would seriously recommend a course of therapy...” Harry tuned out as the doctor rambled on about ‘possible brain damage’ and ‘post-traumatic stress disorder’. He knew that he couldn’t have imagined everything about magic and wizards, it was his whole life. Harry didn’t consider his time spent with the Dursleys before Hogwarts his real life, merely... preparation for all the hardships he had to encounter in the Wizarding World. However, for now Harry was going to go along with what Dr. Adams was saying to make it easier for himself, even if it was something as small as avoiding the pitying looks the doctor was sending him. He _hated_ pity.

“-ter! Mr. Potter!” The doctor had noticed Harry’s inattention and was now glaring sharply at him.

“Sorry doctor, what were you saying?” Harry said whilst smiling sheepishly at the man.

He sighed and then said “Well it’s understandable that you’re a bit out of things, I mean you have just woken up from a coma. Anyway, I was just talking about your situation once you leave the hospital. Now, I had one of the nurses contact your relatives, the Dursleys I believe. However, the phone we tried to ring has been disconnected – just a simple mistake I’m sure.”

Harry scowled and muttered “Sure, a mistake.” Dr. Adams looked at him confusedly for a few seconds, before sending him another look filled with pity. ‘ _Damn! Not this again. Note to self – don’t mention the Dursleys again’._ The doctor composed himself before continuing with his spiel.

“Well, we will continue to try and contact them for you so they can come and pick you up-“

“No! Er...I mean, um, you don’t have to do that. I’m sure I can make it home by myself.” ‘ _Like I’m going to go back to them. When I get out of here, I’m going to find out what on Earth is going on!’_

“I’m sure your relatives would be overjoyed to hear that you’re awake Mr. Potter. But if you’re certain you don’t want them to collect you then I can get you your release forms right away, as there seems to be nothing out of the ordinary going on, and you are officially an adult. If you’ll follow me.” The doctor stood and moved towards the door. ‘ _Yeah, overjoyed’_ Harry scoffed, before standing and following the man.

One Harry had completed the extensive forms, he bid goodbye to Dr. Adams, who had another patient to attend to. He then enquired about clothing – he couldn’t leave the hospital in just a flimsy gown, he had his dignity.

“Clothes, love? I’ll have a dig around in the lost and found for something. Can’t promise it’ll be the nicest stuff but it’ll do, eh?” said the kindly woman behind the desk, who smiled at him briefly before moving into a small room at the back of the office. Behind Harry, Nurse Paterson cleared her throat and he jumped and turned to face her, having completely forgotten she was in the room.

“Mr. Potter, me and some of the other nurses – well, some of us were here the day you were brought in. And those relatives of yours-“She shuddered and grimaced before continuing “I still remember what that awful man said on the telephone when we called to inform them of your accident. ’If that freak ever wakes up, tell him not to bother coming back’. Horrible man, your uncle. Anyway, a few of us on the long-term ward have clubbed together, and well, this is for you.” She handed him a plain, white envelope, and when he opened it, he saw that it held several crisp bank notes. “It’s just a little something to get you on your way, and I’ve popped my phone number and address in there as well, just in case you need a place to stay.”

Harry surprised the nurse by stepping forward and hugging her tightly. He couldn’t help it – the nurse reminded him so clearly of Mrs. Weasley that it almost hurt to look at her mothering expression.

“Thanks Nurse Paterson, for everything” he mumbled into her shoulder. She chuckled softly and then released him.

“I thought I told you to call me Jenny.” With a last fond look, the nurse departed the room and left Harry craving his friends and family from the Wizarding World more than ever. The receptionist returned shortly after, clutching a small pile of clothes, which she handed over to Harry. He left the office and headed towards a bathroom, where he changed into baggy tracksuit bottoms, a slightly musty t-shirt, a faded red hoodie and a pair of battered trainers.

Harry headed towards the exit, and returned a cheery wave to a group of smiling nurses. ‘ _I’m going to find out what’ s going on, even if I have to defeat another Dark Lord to do it’._  


	3. Chapter 3

Harry wandered aimlessly around the streets of London for the best part of an hour, whilst concocting a plan to re-enter the Wizarding World. ‘ _Where can go? I don’t think I’d be able to get all the way to Scotland, even with all the money Nurse Paterson gave me. And anyway, I’m not sure where Hogwarts is exactly, even if I somehow managed to get up there.’_ Harry pondered on the other magical places that he knew were in London: The Ministry of Magic, Diagon Alley and Grimmuald Place.He couldn’t remember the way to the visitor’s entrance at the Ministry, and didn’t have a Thestral handy to lead him to it. He also didn’t know how receptive the Ministry would be to having him, Harry Potter, Undesirable No. 1, wandering in the workers entrance, especially after the time he, Ron and Hermione had broken in and wreaked havoc whilst searching for Slytherin’s locket.

_‘Right so the Ministry’s out.’_ After further contemplation, Harry decided that he would head to Grimmauld place – even if there was no one there, he could use the fireplace to Floo to Diagon Alley or the Burrow – when he remembered that the Death Eaters had known about the house. Yaxley had been taken there when they fled the Ministry and had most likely told the other Death Eaters about the former headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. There were probably all manner of curses and enchantments in the house, set in case someone tried to go back there, and Harry didn’t feel like taking the risk, especially wandless.

 ‘ _Diagon Alley it is. Now, how do I get there again?’_ Harry realized that he didn’t exactly know where it was. He knew he had to go through the Leaky Cauldron to get there...but he’d always been escorted to the pub and had absolutely no idea where it was in relation to the rest of London. ’ _And it’s not like I can stop and ask for directions – muggles can’t see it. Back to the drawing board I guess.’_ Harry came to a halt, his aimless meandering taking him nowhere, and glanced at his surroundings _. ‘Hey I know this place, just right around the corner is...Kings Cross! I can get a train somewhere, the Burrow maybe...’_ With this new possibility of travelling via train, he quickly walked round the building to the entrance of the station. Harry knew the Weasleys lived in the South-West somewhere, Devon perhaps. And he also knew that there was a small, muggle village called Ottery St. Catchpole about five minutes walk from the house. Armed with a new plan, Harry entered into the crowded station and set off finding a help desk, or possibly a map of Britain.

..................................................

Half an hour later, Harry sat on a cold, metal bench, fifty pounds poorer, chomping on a slightly stale ham sandwich. After talking with a helpful woman named Patricia, he now had several train tickets: one from London to Bath, one from Bath to a place called Taunton that Harry had never heard of in his life, and very detailed instructions on how to get a bus from Taunton that would take him to Ottery St. Catchpole. He was also in possession of a small scrap of paper with Patricia’s phone number on, which she had slipped him with a flirtatious wink as he was leaving the customer service desk. Harry was slightly alarmed by this, as the overly-friendly Patricia looked to be a good six or seven years older than him, and a few inches taller as well.

Harry had then purchased a sandwich and a bottle of water for an extortionate price from a small shop, and found a bench between platforms 9 and 10, where he could look upon the sight of his so-called ‘accident’. He did consider running at the wall, just to prove that he wasn’t crazy and the Wizarding World did exist, but recalling his second year at Hogwarts, when he and Ron had run into the wall only to find that it was blocked, he decided to give it a miss. He didn’t fancy that again – the last time it had given him a throbbing headache that lasted for a good few hours. But he was also scared; scared that maybe he hadn’t run through the brick wall, scared that he wouldn’t ever be able to find out what had happened to him, scared that maybe...maybe the doctors were right.

With a shake of his head to clear away the negative thoughts, Harry stood. Tossing the remnants of his meal in a nearby bin, he moved swiftly towards platform 8, where the train waiting to take him on the first part of his journey was located.

..................................................

Harry stepped off the old, rickety bus onto the cobbled street of Ottery St. Catchpole, and shivered slightly at the drizzle falling around him. ‘ _Ah the beautiful British springtime.’_ He watched as the bus departed, leaving him standing on the bustling high street of the rural village. Memories of visiting the muggle settlement with Ron, and the rest of the Weasleys during the summer months came rushing into his head and a heady feeling of nostalgia washed over him. Harry gathered his bearings and headed swiftly in the direction of the Burrow. ‘ _I wonder if there’ll be anyone home, I know that most of them were staying with Ron’s Great Aunt Muriel but I’m sure there’ll be back now that the wars over. Or will they all still be at Hogwarts, with...Fred.’_ He stopped as his thoughts took a depressing turn and his heart clenched at the thought of Fred Weasley - smiling, joking, _alive_ Fred. He sighed before carrying on with his brisk pace. ‘ _I don’t think they’ll mind if I just borrow their fireplace’_

When he got to the turning that he knew would lead to the Burrow, Harry paused and looked at the hedge in front of him suspiciously. ‘ _This shouldn’t be here...where’s the Weasley’s driveway? This must just be another precaution they had to take to hide from the Death Eaters. Yeah, it has to be.’_ Noticing a wooden stile a little way along the hedge, Harry walked over to it and clambered over the wooden contraption and was met with the sight...of an empty field.

His heart stopped at the sight of the barren pasture. Where was the Burrow? Had he gotten the location wrong? He ran to the next hedge and crawled under the brambles to find another empty field. And then another. And another. Out of breath, Harry sank to the ground, clutching his head in his hands and running his fingers through his messy, black hair. ’ _This can’t be happening. It’s not real...not real...’_

“This isn’t real” Harry practically sobbed, “IT’S NOT REAL!” His mind was twisting and turning, and he couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t anymore. ‘ _This is all just a dream. I’ll wake up soon and everything will be alright’_ Harry thought to himself, but he couldn’t pretend anymore. He slowed his breathing, wiped his eyes and stood, before trudging back through the field to the road and wandering back into the village.

Harry couldn’t see it, but the light in his eyes, the one that had inspired so many people to fight for what was right, had disappeared.

.............................

Harry sat in a small café, staring morosely into a cup of greyish coffee. He sipped it occasionally and the bitter taste lingered in his mouth. He gazed out of the rain-splattered window and watched people hurrying to and fro purposefully. He had very little money left, no possessions, no qualifications, no way of getting a job and nowhere to go. ‘ _And I think I may be going a little bit mad,’_ Harry thought, as he imagined a thin man wander past the window, sporting the characteristic red Weasley hair. ‘ _Wait...he’s real!’_ , as he saw another passer-by side step the man. Harry practically sprinted from the café, knocking over his mug in his haste, in chase of the possible Weasley.

“Wait!” Harry called, as he chased the man through the street. ‘ _Was it Ron? Nah...too small. George – two ears. Bill – no ponytail. Arthur – YES!’_

_“_ Arthur, wait!” Harry panted, as he jogged in what he hoped was the right direction. “It’s Harry!” He turned the corner, and found himself back on the road that lead to the Burrow – but there was no red-headed man in sight. The glimmer of hope that had appeared when he spotted the man vanished, and Harry drooped in disappointment and exertion. ‘ _I_ am _going crazy’_ he thought. ‘ _Going_ _crazy? I think you’ll find you already are’_ a small voice in his head piped up.

Harry sighed, before turning back to the village for the second time that day, hoping that there would be a bus back to Taunton before it got dark.

      


	4. Chapter 4

Harry arrived back at Kings Cross just after 11 o’clock at night, exhausted from his long day of travel and emotional upheaval. He had pondered what his next move would be on the train, and had decided he would stay in a hotel tonight and catch up on some sleep. Tomorrow, he would call up Nurse Paterson to see if she could offer some help with finding a job, or if not, about going to muggle college and getting some qualifications. ‘ _You have to stop referring to them as muggles –they’re just people, like you’_ Harry thought to himself as he wandered back towards the service desk, to hopefully find out where the nearest, cheap hotel was. He really hoped Shannon’s shift was over though, as he didn’t fancy talking to her again.

Fortunately, an impatient man was manning the desk and told him, quite brusquely, the directions to an inexpensive hotel about fifteen minutes walk from the station. He then glared at Harry when he asked if he knew how much a room was for a night, and informed him that he did not know, and the desk was meant to close five minutes ago so could he please get going. Harry did just that, and exited the station in search of Crestfield Hotel.

After getting lost several times due to the basic directions, Harry arrived at the hotel, and frowned at its exterior. The white paint was almost grey and peeling, the wooden window frames were dark and rotten, and the front garden was wild and overgrown. However, the sign that stood crookedly in front of the house offered vacant rooms, so Harry moved towards the door and entered the dilapidated building. A grumpy looking, middle-aged woman was sat behind a small table, flipping through a gossip magazine. When Harry came through the door she looked up at him, sighed, and put her magazine down.

“Single room for the night is £22, double is £35 and breakfast is an extra 3 quid” she said in a rather strong cockney accent. Harry thought about the quickly dwindling money in his back pocket – the nurses from the hospital had given him £180, and he’d already spent almost a hundred of that on train tickets and food. He could stay for about four nights in the hotel, three if he wanted to eat, before he ran out of money. He knew that there was probably a cheaper hotel close by, but it was almost midnight, and he didn’t want to think about what the conditions would be like in an even cheaper place than the Crestfield.

“Uh, single room for the night, please, and breakfast” Harry said, whilst handing over some money to the woman. She took the money from him, and gave him a small key in return.

“Room five. Up the stairs, second door on the right.” She said in a bland voice, before picking her magazine again, and continuing her perusal of the tabloid. Harry followed her instructions, and found himself in a small room, with a single bed, a wooden table and a rickety looking chest of drawers. A door on one side of the room looked like it lead to a bathroom, and Harry took advantage of it, before slipping off his shoes, jeans and hoodie, and climbing into bed.

..................................

That night, Harry did not dream of his friends, or magic and wizardry, or anything that he had imagined whilst in his coma. Instead, his dreams were of his past, and some of the worst memories from his time with the Dursleys.

_Harry was three. He had had a nightmare about a giant spider in his cupboard, and couldn’t get back to sleep. He padded up the stairs, clutching his blanket, and knocked on Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon’s bedroom door. “Aunt Petuwnia? I had a bad dream. Can I sleep with you?” There was no response, so he knocked again. After a minute or two, Uncle Vernon’s rotund face appeared in the doorway. “Go back to bed, you little freak, and don’t ever wake us up again!” he hissed in a fierce whisper, before closing the door in Harry’s face. Harry sniffled, and went back to his cupboard. He didn’t sleep anymore that night._

_Harry was four. It was his first day of school, and he was lost. Aunt Petunia had disappeared with his cousin Dudley, and he didn’t know where to go. He followed a boy who looked about his age, who was holding hands with a lady who was probably his mother, to an open door where a woman with a kind face was welcoming new students. He looked around the small courtyard he found himself in, and felt very lonely once he noticed that all of the other boys and girls had a parent with them. Harry walked up to the nice looking woman, who noticed him after a few seconds. “Where’s your mum, sweetie?” Harry said nothing, because he didn’t have a mum. Or a dad. The woman looked at him and sighed “Run off, have you? You’re going to be a troublemaker, you are.” She ushered him inside, and he sat down and looked at the carpet. He already knew he was trouble. Uncle Vernon told him at least once a week._

_Harry was seven. His arm was hurting really badly and looked funny. Dudley had pushed him over and he had landed on it, hard. He found his aunt and said “Aunt Petunia? My arm really hurts. I think it might be broken.” She looked at his arm, and then scowled at him. “How did you manage this you stupid boy. Now we’ll have to take you to the hospital. We had plans for tonight, and now you’ve gone and ruined them! Don’t you ever think about anyone apart from yourself?” She dragged him to the car and complained about him the whole way to the hospital. Harry said nothing, and his face was blank and expressionless as he stared out of the window._

_Harry was ten. He would be eleven years old in less than five minutes. He heard something creak outside, and hoped the roof of the miserable shack he and the Dursleys were staying in wasn’t going to fall down. One minute to go –ten, nine, eight, seven...BOOM! The door crashed down, and there was Hagrid. He told Harry all about magic, and wizards and his parents. He was going to leave the Dursleys. He was going to be free..._

_............................._

Harry startled awake, and sat up in the small bed. ‘ _Hagrid! I met him before I went to the station! How could I forget?! This must mean that it’s real!’_ Harry couldn’t believe how stupid he’d been. With everything that was going on, he had completely forgotten that he’d seen parts of the Wizarding World before he went to Hogwarts: The Leaky Cauldron, Diagon Alley, Gringotts and several magical shops. The whole reason he’d even been at Kings Cross in the first place was to go to Hogwarts!

Harry jumped out of bed, and had set about getting dressed, when he noticed through the small, grubby window that it was still dark outside. He couldn’t wander round London in the middle of the  night by himself – even he knew that was a bad idea – and he still didn’t know where The Leaky Cauldron was. He sighed, and shucked off his shoes, before climbing back into bed. Tomorrow, he _would_ find it.

................................

Three days of searching later and Harry still hadn’t re-entered the Wizarding World. The only thing that he could remember about the pub was that The Leaky Cauldron was located between a record store and a book shop, and it couldn’t be seen by muggles. He was pretty sure that he had found the right location, after searching on a computer he’d accessed in a library for any book shops and record stores next to each other in London. The problem was that Harry himself couldn’t actually see the Leaky Cauldron – he recognised the street and the shops the pub was supposed to be in-between, but there was no building there. But he was convinced it was there. He _knew_ it.

So now Harry was staking out the street where he knew the Leaky Cauldron was, and had been for the past few days, his eyes scanning for somebody he recognised, somebody who looked like a wizard or a witch, _anyone_ that looked like they would know about magic. But nobody came. Harry continued to sit in a busy café across the street and stare hopefully out of the window, even though there had been no sign of anyone he knew yet.

 ‘ _It’s getting late. I should probably head back to the hotel.’_ He sighed and stood up, before wandering out the door and crossing the street. This would be the last night he would be able to stay at the Crestfield. He had almost no money left, even though he had been skipping meals to save his cash, and would probably be forced to call Nurse Paterson in the morning, unless he wanted to start sleeping on the street.

Harry was so focused on his thoughts that he didn’t notice the person appearing out of nowhere in front of where the Leaky Cauldron was supposed to be, and walked straight into them .They both collapsed heavily on the pavement and made identical noises of surprise. Harry clambered back to his feet and stared awkwardly at the ground as he tried to apologize “Er, I’m really sorry about that, I didn’t see you –“But he was cut off by the man he had knocked to the floor.

“Watch where you’re going, you stupid muggle!”

‘ _Muggle! He’s a wizard!’_ Harry looked up from the ground to see who his unknowing saviour was, but he’d already turned to walk away. “Wait!” He called after them, and started running towards the mysterious wizard. The person stopped and turned back to face him. Harry almost fell over again, as he saw the face that turned towards him covered by an achingly familiar sneer. 

“Malfoy!?”                          


	5. Chapter 5

“Malfoy!?”

Harry’s jaw dropped wide open at the sight of his childhood rival standing on the crowded streets of muggle London. ‘ _What’s_ he _doing here? He hates muggles!’_ Malfoy’s eyes had widened slightly upon seeing Harry, but a blank expression soon covered the aristocratic face and the blonde turned away from Harry once more. As Malfoy began to quickly walk away from him, Harry called “Wait, Malfoy, please! You have to help me!”

When the other boy showed no sign of stopping or slowing down, Harry followed after him and walked at his side. “I know you recognise me Malfoy.” 

Malfoy said nothing.

Although Harry was slightly disappointed at the lack of response, inside he was positively glowing with happiness. ‘ _It’s all real! Magic and wizards and everything!’_ This would probably be the only time that Harry would _ever_ be happy to see Draco Malfoy in his life, but he was currently overjoyed at the proof of the existence of magic.

“I’m just going to keep following you until you talk to me, you know” Harry said to Malfoy in a casual, off-hand manner.

“Come on Malfoy, talk! I saved your bloody life, for Merlin’s sake!” With these words, Malfoy stopped suddenly and turned to look at Harry. A furious glare was fixed on his face, and spots of red tinged his high cheekbones.

“Shut _up_ Potter! He hissed threateningly, before turning and stomping away. Harry followed once more.

“Look Malfoy, I hate you – you hate me. I get it. Just let me use your Floo, please, and I promise I’ll never bother you again.”

Malfoy stopped and seemed to deliberate this for a few seconds, before he turned to him and said “Fine, Potter. But then we’re even.”

With that, Malfoy started walking once more and Harry sighed, before trailing after him. After a few minutes of walking in complete silence, Harry struck up an awkward conversation. “So Malfoy, what are you doing in muggle London? I thought you’d sworn death upon every muggle on the planet?”

Malfoy shot him a scathing look before replying “None of your business Potter. And I could ask you the same question – what are you doing here without your little fan club? Did you get tired of them fawning all over you?

“Shut up, you git” Harry commanded, “And I don’t know why I’m here, really. I woke up in a muggle hospital a few days ago, and I’ve basically just been wandering around London since then. I don’t have a wand or anything, so I couldn’t really get back to the Wizarding World.”

Malfoy gaped at him for a few seconds, before giving him a look that clearly said _‘You are a complete moron’._

“Well everything does seem to happen to you, doesn’t it Scarhead?” Malfoy looked at him condescendingly, emphasising the childish nickname, “Why didn’t you just go into Diagon Alley and use the public Floo there, instead of bothering me?” Harry silently agreed with Malfoy’s first statement – everything did seem to happen to him, and he was tired of it. ‘ _When I get back, I’m going to get a nice place somewhere, Hogsmeade maybe, and I’m just going to relax- no evil Dark Lords, no bloody quests, nothing.’_

“I was trying to use it. That’s why I’m here I guess. But the thing is I can’t see the Leaky Cauldron anymore, so I can’t –“Harry started to reply, but was cut off suddenly by the shocked blonde.

“You can’t see the Leaky Cauldron!? Like a muggle?” Malfoy practically shouted in response at Harry.

“Um, yeah I guess so. So I’ve just been sitting in a café across the street from where it’s supposed to be, waiting for someone to go past. So anyway, why _are_ you here? You avoided my question before.”

Malfoy looked at him sceptically before replying “I was needed at the Ministry today, and I just went to Diagon Alley to get a few things. One of them being a wand.” He gave Harry a very pointed look at that statement, and he felt a little bit of regret. He _had_ stolen Malfoy’s wand, and now had apparently lost it.

“Why were you at the Ministry?”

The other boy sighed at Harry’s endless list of questions. “I was there for my trial, all right?”

“Trial? You mean like-“

“Yes like the Death Eater trials. And before you ask, no I’m not being sent to Azkaban. I’m just under house arrest for the next six months. They couldn’t convict me of anything other than having _his_ mark.” Malfoy looked extremely smug at this, and Harry regretted that Malfoy hadn’t been given a harsher sentence – the git deserved it for ever supporting Voldemort. But then he remembered how reluctant Malfoy had been to torture Rowle under the Dark Lord’s orders, and how utterly...terrified he had looked whilst doing it, and his animosity faded slightly.

Malfoy continued with his spiel, unaware of Harry’s inattention. “My parents though – they weren’t as lucky. They’re in Azkaban, but only for a short while. And it’s not as bad now the dementors are gone...” His voice trailed off as a sad look crossed over his face. Harry understood – even without the dementors, Azkaban would still be an awful place.

Another awkward silence sprang up between them, and Harry once again attempted to fill it, seeming as they were being somewhat civil to one another. “So the trials happened quickly. The final battle was what, a week ago? Two?”

Malfoy gave him a strange look, raised a pale eyebrow and replied “You do know its July, don’t you Potter? The fifteenth to be exact. The final battle was months ago.”

“Wha- really?!” Harry was stunned. The final battle at Hogwarts had taken place at the beginning of May. So what had happened to Harry since the battle? Had he really been in a coma?

“Yes really, Potter. Anyway we’re here now.”

Here happened to be a fancy, black town car – a muggle town car. Harry had not been paying attention to where they were going, and was extremely surprised to find himself standing in a small car park.

“ _You_ have a car?!” Harry questioned loudly. ‘ _Malfoy - the epitome of pureblood wizardry - has a bloody car?’_

Malfoy merely looked at Harry, and for some reason slid into the backseat of the car. Harry remained stood outside of the car, wondering vaguely if Malfoy _actually_ knew what to do with a car.

“Hurry up Potter and get in.” At Malfoy’s commanding tone, Harry clambered into the backseat as well and found himself in a luxurious leather seat. He slammed the door shut behind him, and stared at the other boy for a few seconds, waiting for him to realize that he needed to get into the front seat in order to drive. But Malfoy didn’t make any moves to exit the vehicle, and instead drew out an unfamiliar wand and pointed it at the steering wheel. He muttered a few words under his breath, and almost immediately the car began to move. Harry startled in his seat, and looked at Malfoy bewilderedly.

“Not just any car, Potter” Malfoy said with a smirk on his face. Of course Malfoy would have a bloody magical car.

Harry sighed contentedly “I really missed magic”. He settled into his comfortable and prepared for a long, awkward journey.

...............................

Harry managed to survive the trip from London to Wiltshire without Malfoy murdering him, or vice versa, somehow, and was now in Malfoy Manor’s vast front entrance. His old rival was marching quickly to a set of doors on the left of the room, and Harry was following after him, hoping that Malfoy was leading him to the Floo. They passed through the doors, and entered a room that was dominated by a large, ornate fireplace. Malfoy strode towards it, and removed a small pot from the top of the mantelpiece. He held it out towards Harry, who eagerly reached for it and grasped some Floo powder. ‘ _Yes, this bloody ordeal’s nearly over!’_

Harry walked over to the fireplace, and stood awkwardly in the empty grate, his empty hand scratching at the back of his neck. “Well thanks I guess, Malfoy. Bye” Malfoy didn’t reply verbally, but lifted his chin in a sign of dismissal.

With that, Harry threw down his handful of powder and said clearly “The Burrow!”

But there were no green flames, no awful squeezing sensation and no movement at all. Harry remained stood in Malfoy Manor, staring at the other boy.

“Um...er, maybe they still have all of the protection charms on the building.” Malfoy merely raised a blonde eyebrow in response, and waited for him to try again. So Harry took another handful of Floo powder, and tossed it into the grate, this time saying “The Three Broomsticks!”

Still, nothing happened. Harry tried again and again, with every useful place he could think of, slowly growing more worried.

“The Leaky Cauldron!” Nothing.

“Shell Cottage!” Nothing.

“Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes!” Nothing.

Scraping the last of the Floo powder into his hand, Harry cried out “Grimmauld Place!” valiantly hoping that _something_ would happen.

But nothing did.

Harry stared balefully at Malfoy, who had been looking at him bemusedly through all of his attempts to use the Floo network.

“Well it looks like we finally found something Saint Potter can’t do,” Malfoy said, with his traditional smirk on his face “How did _you_ manage to defeat the Dark Lord when you can’t even use the bloody Floo network?”

“Shut up Malfoy,” Harry replied, but there was no venom in his insult. What was he going to do now? His plan had failed, and he was stuck in a Manor with his childhood enemy and a wide variety of Dark objects. Harry stammered “I guess I’ll be going then,” before turning to exit the manor.

Harry stopped in his tracks as he heard Malfoy sigh and turned around to find the other boy looking out of the large window into the darkness of the night. “Well we can’t have the ‘Saviour of the Wizarding World’ wandering round Wiltshire, attempting to ‘save’ hapless muggles. You can stay here for the night, but tomorrow you’re gone. I’ll have a house elf show you to a room.”

Malfoy strode confidently from the room, leaving Harry alone and confused.

‘ _Wait; was Malfoy just...nice to me?’_


	6. Chapter 6

Harry stood and stared out of the doorway that Malfoy had just passed through, unable to comprehend that Draco Malfoy, evil Slytherin git Draco Malfoy, had done him a favour. ‘ _Why on earth would Malfoy willingly help me?’_ He ran the moment in question over and over in his head, searching for any ulterior motive behind the other boy’s words – but there was no bargaining, no threats and no demands for compensation. Just one person offering to do something for another human being, purely out of the goodness of their heart. ‘ _He must be up to something...’_

Just then, a small house-elf appeared in front of Harry, and the familiar ‘pop’ of apparition startled him from his musings.

“Mr. Potter, Master Malfoy has requested that Mipsey be showing you to a guest room. If you’ll be following me, sir?” The house-elf was garbed in a clean, white sheet imprinted with some sort of emblem that Harry presumed was the Malfoy family crest, and it looked to be in much better condition than the one Dobby had worn when he was in the family’s service. Harry’s heart twinged at the thought of Dobby, who had died in front of his eyes after rescuing him from this very house. He made a sound of assent towards the waiting elf, and followed the small creature from the room. They traversed a series of corridors, each more lavishly decorated than the last, until they reached a handsome wooden door.

“This is where you’ll be staying for the night sir. If you be needing anything, please do not hesitate to call for Mipsey.” The elf bowed slightly to Harry, and vanished with another loud pop. He winced at the noise, before turning to the door and pushing it open.

The room Harry found himself standing in continued to showcase the wealth of the Malfoy family. A large, ornately carved, four-poster bed dominated the room, and the remaining space was filled by a comfortable looking armchair, a tall wooden wardrobe and an elaborate desk, which was sat underneath an arched window that looked out onto the extensive grounds of Malfoy manor. ‘ _Well this is certainly a step up from the Crestfield’_ Harry thought to himself as he looked around in awe.

Harry collapsed heavily onto the soft bed, slipped off his shoes and crawled under the covers. He was exhausted, and was almost asleep before his head had even touched the feather pillows. His last thought before he succumbed to sleep was ‘ _Maybe I can persuade Malfoy to let me stay until I find somewhere else to go - I could definitely get used to this.’_

............................................

After an uneventful night’s sleep, Harry had exited the sumptuous room in search of Malfoy- and possibly some breakfast. However, he had seriously underestimated both the size of the manor, and his sense of direction, and was now wandering aimlessly through the corridors, completely lost. He sighed and came to a halt outside of a room that he had passed at least three times already.

“Uh – Mipsey?” Harry called for the elf from last night, hoping that she would be able to direct him to Malfoy, or maybe the kitchens. But the little elf didn’t appear, and Harry wondered if this would be another ‘side effect’ of whatever had happened to him, like his sudden inability to use the Floo network and see the Leaky Cauldron.

He tried again, louder this time, even though he already knew that it was pointless.

“Mipsey!” Harry practically shouted into the empty hall. And as he predicted, no helpful house-elf appeared. He sighed again and was about to begin walking once more, when a haughty voice called his name from somewhere behind him.

“Potter, what on earth are you shouting about? And what are you doing in _my_ wing?” Malfoy questioned from his position leaning casually in a nearby doorway.

“I was looking...didn’t know it was your...bloody manor...” Harry mumbled under his breath.

“Looking for what, Potter? Some dignity perhaps?” Malfoy drawled as he looked Harry up and down. Harry scowled at the other boy, but did not reply, feeling awkward under the blonde’s cool gaze. He hadn’t been intimidated by Draco Malfoy since the first day they met in Madame Malkin’s robe shop, but as he was dressed in the same clothes he had been wearing for four days and looked distinctly sleep ruffled, Harry felt rather shabby and meek compared to the other boy, who was wearing elegant, grey robes.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting food before you leave.” Malfoy sneered, as if he couldn’t wait to be rid of Harry, and spun on his heel and marched past the startled Gryffindor, who was left once again to trail after his rival.

.........................................

When they arrived at dining room after a silent walk, Malfoy had summoned a different elf and started listing the items they required for breakfast. Whilst he was doing this, Harry had stood in the doorway, looking at the table where he knew Lord Voldemort had once sat, surrounded by his Death Eaters. ‘ _I wonder if Malfoy knows what happened to me after I finished off Voldemort’_ he pondered, before realizing that the elf had departed and Malfoy was now sat at the head of the table, looking at him pointedly.

Harry sat down, and cleared his throat before breaching the silence that always seemed to spring up between them.

“So, uh, Malfoy, I was wondering if you maybe knew anything about what happened to me. After the battle I mean.”

Malfoy raised an eyebrow at his stuttered sentences, before replying “Articulate as always Potter. And do I _look_ like I care what happened to you?”

“Well, no but you were there weren’t you? What happened after I collapsed? Or did I imagine that?”

Malfoy huffed, and blew a piece of blonde hair out of his eyes. “Well, after you finished off the Dark Lord, you collapsed onto the floor and started screaming, and whimpering like a little girl. And then, all of your little friends on the light side crowded around you and I couldn’t really see what was going on. You shut up after a while, and then they carted you off into the castle, presumably to the hospital wing because you were unconscious. I don’t know anything after that - I didn’t exactly endeavour to find out what happened to you, for obvious reasons.”

Harry digested this information before asking another question. “What about after the battle? Like what have they been saying in the paper?”

“Honestly Potter, is that all you care about, what they’re saying about you in the paper? I always knew you loved all the attention,” Harry tried to protest this statement, but Malfoy just carried on with his spiel, “Anyway, your precious Prophet hasn’t been mentioning you much – just saying you’re resting and such like.”

At that point, several house-elves appeared, laden with plates and bowls, but Harry had forgotten about his stomach and was slumped in his chair, disappointed at the lack of information. He would have to find answers elsewhere. ‘ _But maybe Malfoy could be useful for something other than a place to stay...’_

“Hey Malfoy, do you think you could apparate me to Hogsmeade?” Harry asked hopefully.

Malfoy gave him a scathing look whilst he stirred sugar into a bowl of porridge, before replying “As much as I would _love_ to help you Scarhead, I can’t. Weren’t you listening to my sob story yesterday? I’m under house-arrest, meaning I cannot leave the house, you idiot.”

“Prat.” Harry shot back.

“Git.”

“Wanker.”

“Really? This is the way you’re going to try and persuade me to help you? You wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in Slytherin Potter; toddlers are more cunning than you.” Malfoy replied, his voice laced with venom.

Harry saw the validity in Malfoy’s statement, and reconsidered his next words, which were going to be significantly more insulting than the ones they had already spoken.

“Fine. Can I use an owl to send a letter to Ron or Hermione? You owe me that at least.”

Malfoy stood up suddenly at this question, an angry glint in his grey eyes. “I don’t owe you anything Potter. I repaid my life debt to you by letting you stay here last night, and I will kick you out without a second thought if I want to.”

Harry did not reply to Malfoy’s statement, instead choosing to stare pointedly down at his still empty plate. Malfoy sat back down slowly and resumed eating, carefully spooning porridge into his mouth as he stared at the other boy, before sighing gently.

“I’ll show you to the owlery after breakfast.”

Harry looked up in surprise at the blonde boy. Was this the real Draco Malfoy? The Draco Malfoy who had dressed up as a dementor in their third year to try and make him fall of his broom? The Draco Malfoy who had made ‘Potter stinks’ badges when he was in the Triwizard tournament? Maybe his childhood enemy had finally grown from the spoilt, selfish boy he was, after facing the horrors of the war. He decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, and quietly replied “Thanks Malfoy.”

Malfoy nodded swiftly, before staring down at his half full bowl. Harry blinked a few times, before following Malfoy’s example, reaching for some breakfast.

....................................

After Malfoy had escorted him to the owlery, Harry had sat at a small desk, which was equipped with quills, ink and parchment, and wrote three identical notes to Ron, Hermione and Professor McGonagall.

_Hi,_

_It’s Harry – I’m not really sure what’s going on. I woke up in a muggle hospital a few days ago, and I’m now staying at Malfoy manor. I don’t have a wand, and I can’t use the Floo network, so can you apparate here to explain what’s happened to me?_

_Harry_

Harry selected three tawny owls from the Malfoy’s vast menagerie of birds and tied the notes onto their legs. He sighed as he watched the birds fly away out of the window. _‘Please come soon.’_  


	7. Chapter 7

Harry spent the rest of the morning wandering aimlessly around the manor. Malfoy had disappeared after escorting him to the owlery, saying he had ‘important’ work to be getting on with. Harry just thought Malfoy didn’t fancy spending more time than necessary with him, and he found he was completely fine with that. So after he had finished sending off his letters, Harry had set off to explore the rest of the expansive building. So far, he had found the kitchens (complete with several house-elves, who practically begged him to take a selection of freshly baked cakes), three dining rooms, eight sitting rooms, a library and more bedrooms than he could keep count of.

Harry was just traipsing through what he thought was a gallery of sorts, housing portraits of past Malfoys, when he heard a loud chime echo through the house. A minute later, a house-elf appeared in front of him and turned to address him.

“Mr. Potter be having guests, sir. Mipsey be showing them to the red sitting room, sir, or do you wish me to escort them somewhere else?”

“Err-“Harry’s heart leapt at the thought of visitors – _‘Ron and Hermione!’_ – but he didn’t know where the red sitting room was.

“Mipsey can take Mr. Potter to the red sitting room first if he wishes.” The elf had noticed Harry’s pathetic response and had dived in to save him from embarrassment.

“Oh, er, yes please then.” Harry replied, too distracted by his impending meeting with his friends to put more detail into his answer than that.

Mipsey reached out and clasped Harry’s arm, and he felt himself pulled away by the horrible feeling that was apparition. When the awful squeezing sensation had faded enough that Harry felt he could open his eyes, he found himself in one of the many sitting rooms he had found during his exploration of the manor. The walls were indeed painted a deep burgundy colour, and the expensive looking furniture was all made from a rich, dark wood. Several leather couches sat in the centre of the room, surrounding a stout table that had a large vase of flowers sitting on top of it. Mipsey released Harry’s arm, and bowed slightly to him before disappearing once more.

Harry wandered over to one of the couches and sat down awkwardly, worrying internally about what was going to happen. Would his friends explain what had happened, or would they skirt around his questions, like they did in his fifth year at Hogwarts?

The door suddenly opened, and Harry looked excitedly towards it. But the happy expression dropped from his face at the sight of Malfoy sauntering into the room and collapsing down onto an armchair, which was situated next to the couch Harry was sitting on.

“Oh, it’s just you” Harry said in a deadpan voice, as his head turned away from the blonde boy back towards the door.

“Don’t sound so disappointed, Potter, the things that are going to be coming through that door in a minute are going to be far worse than me. I mean a _Weasley_ and a mudblood-“Malfoy’s haughty drawl was cut off by Harry’s fierce interruption.

“Don’t! Just...don’t Malfoy. Not after everything that’s happened...” Harry trailed off; caught in his memories of the vicious war he had fought in.

Malfoy, for once in all the time Harry had known him, did not have a quick and insulting response, and instead stayed silent, staring down at the floor with a blank expression on his pale face. Harry stared at the other boy, bewildered at the lack of response, but relieved at the same time – he didn’t want to get all worked up before seeing his friends.

However, Harry’s contemplation of the situation was soon interrupted by the sound of quiet voices and footsteps approaching the door. Eagerly, Harry stood up and made to walk towards the entrance way but he was stopped almost as soon as he had stood up by a small figure that had appeared in front of him. The person, whose head was covered in a mass of recognisable brown hair, flung their arms around Harry, and squeezed tightly; as if afraid he was suddenly just going to disappear.

“Harry! I’ve been so worried about you! You just vanished, and no one would tell us what was happening! Are you alright? How are you feeling? And how on earth did you end up here?!” Harry smiled broadly at the fast-paced questions that were emerging from the mouth of one of his best friends: Hermione Granger.

 Looking up from Hermione’s flushed face; Harry’s grin became even wider at the sight of his other best friend, Ron Weasley, who was only just entering the room, slightly out of breath.

“Bloody hell, Hermione! Did you have to sprint all the way up here? There was _four_ flights of stairs! Four! And – Harry!” Ron’s freckled face lit up at the sight of Harry, and he moved quickly over to the still embracing pair. His large hand reached out and clapped Harry on his shoulder, and they grinned broadly at each other.

“Good to see you, mate.” Ron said in a cheerful voice.

“Honestly Ronald, your best friend disappears for _two_ months, and that’s the best you can do?” Hermione, who had still not let go of Harry, shook her head in amazement. Both he and Ron sniggered at this phrase, which was spoken in a tone that was so reminiscent of the voice Hermione had used in Hogwarts when they had done something she disapproved of.

“It’s good to see you guys too,” Harry replied, still smiling, “But can someone please explain what happened to me?”

Ron and Hermione’s grins faded at this, and their expressions became dark and angry.

“Well we can tell you what we know. But we don’t really know much, ‘cause no one would tell us what happened to you.” Ron replied in a pointed tone, before letting go of Harry and turning to look behind them. Harry shifted to look as well, and was surprised to see Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Professor McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt all sat on the couches near Malfoy. He supposed they must’ve come in whilst he was distracted with Ron and Hermione.

However, Harry was very surprised that Mrs. Weasley wasn’t fussing over him and commenting on how thin he looked – in fact she seemed to be avoiding meeting his eyes. Actually, now that he thought about it, all four of the adults seemed to be determinedly looking away from him. Harry’s eyes narrowed on their guilty expressions, before he turned back to Ron.

“Let’s sit down, shall we?” Harry said sharply, before moving quickly over to the only empty sofa and sitting down. He was shortly accompanied by Ron and Hermione, who sat down on either side of him, before all three of them turned to stare accusingly at the older witches and wizards.

Silence filled the room. Malfoy, who Harry had completely forgotten about, seemed to be enjoying the tension between Harry and his guests and was smirking silently in his armchair.

Hermione cleared her throat and spoke up.”I’ll start then, shall I? Well Harry, as you might remember, after you killed Voldemort, you kind of...” Hermione’s voice trailed off as a look of sadness tinged her expression.

Ron took over for Hermione. “Well, you collapsed mate, and started screaming, and yelling. And then you stopped, and went quiet. And we all thought that...that,” Ron frowned but continued “And anyway, you were just unconscious, so we carried you to the Hospital Wing. We figured that, you know, having two killing curses fired at you on the same day just took it out of you, and that you’d wake up soon and be fine. But you didn’t. You were still unconscious three days later, so then we took you to St. Mungo’s, to see if they knew what had happened to you. And that’s when people stopped telling us stuff, me and Hermione I mean.”

Hermione must’ve recovered enough by this point, as she started talking once more. “We kept trying to visit you, but no one would tell us what room you were in, or how you were. And it went on for weeks! So eventually, we decided to try and find you ourselves. We used your cloak – sorry about that by the way – and we looked everywhere in the hospital, but you just...weren’t there. And when we told the rest of the Order that we knew you weren’t at the hospital, they told us you were ‘somewhere safe’ and wouldn’t say anything else.”

Ron jumped back into the conversation. “That’s when we left. We were tired of the secrets and the hiding, the ‘don’t worry about Harry, the _adults_ will take care of it’. So we went to Grimmauld – hope you don’t mind but we didn’t know where else to go – and started looking for you. We tried everywhere we could think of, but you had just...disappeared.”

Ron and Hermione looked at each other, as if they were communicating without words, before turning their attention back to Harry, whose hands were tightly clenched into fists. Silence filled the room once more. To Harry’s surprise, it was Mr. Weasley who broke the tension first.

“It’s good to see you, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said with a bright smile, which faltered slightly at Harry’s glare, “I suppose we owe you an explanation...”

Harry nodded stiffly.

“Well, as Ron and Hermione said, you collapsed after the battle and were taken to the Hospital Wing. When you didn’t wake up, we took you to St. Mungo’s because... well you weren’t exactly responding to any treatment we tried.”

Harry’s glare softened slightly at this, instead his expression showing his confusion at Mr. Weasley’s statement. “What do you mean, not responding?”

“Exactly that. We tried everything – spells, potions, charms. But nothing helped. And you were getting worse, because you weren’t eating anything and we couldn’t find a way to keep you hydrated. So we took you to St. Mungo’s in the hope that they could find out what was wrong, or at least find a way to keep you healthy. But they found something else, something we never expected...”

“What?!” Harry, Ron and Hermione said all at the same time.

At their exclamation, Professor McGonagall spoke up for the first time. “I can assure you Potter, that none of us knew about this. I don’t think even Dumbledore knew. But if we did, we never would have...” Her voice trailed off, as she looked at Harry with a sad expression.

“Tell me!” Harry shouted at the four men and women in front of him.

“There was... a curse, of sorts, on Voldemort. One that would affect whomever finally killed him,” McGonagall said in a quiet voice, “An old curse – I’ve never heard of its use, except in some of the oldest books in the school library. I suppose that’s where _he_ found it in the first place.”

“What curse?! Just tell me; stop skirting around it!” Harry roared.

McGonagall sighed before replying. “The curse is called, as I believe it, _Sustulerat Potestatem.”_

Hermione gasped loudly at this – she had obviously heard of the curse before – and gaped at Professor McGonagall. Harry and Ron exchanged a look of confusion, still as lost as they were before.

“You – you can’t...no” Hermione stammered, looking close to tears.

“What is that? I’ve never heard of it before.” Harry replied, slightly relieved that he knew the name, at least, of the spell that was causing him so many problems. But his relief was short lived.

Hermione turned to Harry, a tear rolling slowly down her cheek. “ _Sustulerat Potestatem._ Some wizards say it’s as bad as the killing curse, if not worse, but...” She took a deep breath before continuing, “It’s more commonly known as – as - the Draining curse.”

Harry stared at her blankly. She saw his mystified expression and explained further.

“It – well, it drains your power, your magic –all of it. It takes away the very essence of what makes you a wizard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sustulerat Potestatem – purloined power (Latin)


	8. Chapter 8

“What!” Harry and Ron screeched at the same time, jumping to their feet. There was a loud thud to Harry’s left, and he turned to see Malfoy lying sprawled on the floor, an expression of complete shock plastered on his face.

“No! You’re wrong. I can’t be a – a squib? A muggle? What-“Harry shouted and stammered, running his hands through his messy, black hair in an agitated manner. He couldn’t believe it; no he _wouldn’t_ believe it. ‘ _This is just like being in the hospital all over again.’_

“We are quite sure Potter. I’m sorry.” McGonagall replied in a conflicted tone.

“Well there’s got to be something we can do! I mean, we can’t just leave him like this!” Ron demanded, his pale face the picture of abject misery. Harry nodded his head vehemently, in complete agreement with his best friend. Hermione gave a loud sniffle, before doing what Hermione did best; answering any kind of question posed to her in the most informative and efficient way possible.

“The curse has only been used a few times since it was invented, and the most recent case was _centuries_ ago. And...there’s no known ‘cure’. That’s why it’s considered to be almost as bad as the unforgivable curses.” She answered in a voice that was slightly rough from her tears.

“Shit!” Harry swore loudly, before collapsing back onto the couch, his bowed head cradled in his hands. The room collapsed briefly into silence. Harry was morosely contemplating the utter disaster that was his life when an unexpected voice spoke up.

“You’ve _got_ to be joking. He’s Harry bloody Potter! Saviour of the Wizarding world and all that!” Harry looked on in awe, as Malfoy of all people protested against this injustice against him, gesticulating wildly with his hands,” Someone’s got to be able to do something for _him_ of all people!”

Everyone in the room stared at the blonde, with mouths gaping wide and disbelieving looks in their eyes. After several moments of stunned silence, Harry tried to reply to his statement, but soon found he could only force a strange strangled noise out of his mouth. Eventually though, he managed to choke out a reply.

“Um, thanks Malfoy, I guess.” Harry said awkwardly, fidgeting and squirming in his seat at the uncomfortable feelings running through him, caused by the fact he had to apologize to his hated rival.

Malfoy sniffed. “It’s not like I actually care about what happens to you, Potter. It’s just that I can’t very well have someone who’s practically a _muggle_ befouling my house.” He said haughtily, looking at Harry as if he was something vile stuck to the bottom of his expensive Italian shoes.

‘ _That’s more like the Draco Malfoy I know.’_ Harry thought to himself.

“Don’t worry Malfoy; I won’t be ‘befouling’ your house for much longer. Right?” He sent a questioning glance to the other wizards in the room. Hermione and Ron nodded quickly, with large smiles on their faces; even if Hermione’s happy expression was dampened slightly by the fact that she was still crying a little. None of the others responded, and Harry remembered that he was still annoyed at them.

“Anyway. Could you maybe finish explaining why _exactly_ I woke up in the muggle hospital? I mean, I get it, I wasn’t responding to magic but...”

Mrs. Weasley spoke up, a sad smile tilting her lips. “Why was no one there why you woke up?”

Harry nodded.

She sniffed briefly, looking as if she were about to burst into tears, and then started her long awaited explanation.

“Well, Harry dear, as Arthur said, after we found the curse, nothing the healers tried to treat you with was working. We were worried about your health, so you were transferred to the Royal London Infirmary. We obviously couldn’t tell them you were cursed, so Kingsley here, and a few others from the ministry who escorted you to the hospital, put powerful Confundus charms on the doctors and nurses so that they would think you had been in a coma for several years. And they used the Kings Cross story because you’ve not been on any of the muggle records since you were eleven, when you came to Hogwarts, and we were worried that they might refuse to treat you because of that.” Mrs. Weasley finished her speech with a kind, motherly smile and Harry’s anger wavered at the sight, but he pressed on with his questions anyway.

“Alright...but I still don’t understand –“Harry again tried to get them to answer the question he was most desperate for an answer, but was interrupted again, this time by Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“I can see what you’re thinking Harry, and we didn’t intentionally abandon you. The doctors were meant to contact us when you awoke, as part of the charm we placed on them. However, they did not - we only found out that you’d woke up when Molly went to check on you, and found you’d been discharged the day before. I blame myself for this – the Confundus charm I used was rather weak, as I was worried about permanently damaging the muggle’s memories. They don’t react well to them at the best of times, and since I was meant to be modifying several years’ worth of memories – well you understand. They must have allowed you to be released without a guardian present, as is normal procedure, I believe, for an underage coma patient, because they must have remembered somewhere in the back of their minds that you were an adult when you were initially brought in.”

Harry took in all of this information, and racked his brain for anymore unanswered questions. _‘They’re hiding something, I can feel it.’_

“Oh, okay. But- but what about my scars? The ones on my arm, from Wormtail and the Basilisk, what happened to them?” Harry asked, gesturing vaguely in the direction of his left forearm.

Mr. Weasley answered his rather weak question. “We had to use a glamour charm on them. Couldn’t have the muggles getting too suspicious – a boy who had been in a coma since he was eleven with obvious battle scars? Not good for a memory charm at all. I can remove the charm now for you, if you want?”

Harry thought about this for a second – did he really want the scars that brought back awful memories? But he quickly concluded that although the scars reminded him of painful times, he wouldn’t feel as excluded from the Wizarding World if he bore the marks of magical wounds. Harry nodded in agreement, and held out his arm. Mr. Weasley extracted his wand, pointed it at Harry’s arm and quietly uttered a few words. Sure enough, the pale expanse of his arm blurred slightly, before revealing the vicious scar lines that crossed over his skin.

“Any other questions, Harry?” Mr. Weasley asked in a brisk voice, as if he was impatient to be leaving the manor. Harry concentrated, searching for a question that would yield useful answers, as he still thought that their story seemed...incomplete.

“Well, I’d been out of the hospital for almost a week before I sent you those notes. Didn’t you...look for me or anything?” Harry asked in a vulnerable voice that sounded completely different to his normal tone. When he noticed the older witches and wizards’ furtive, guilty looks, Harry knew that he was about hear the _real_ story.

“Of course we did, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley replied in a slightly offended tone, “We care about you a great deal.”

“We immediately started questioning the muggle doctors,” Mr. Weasley explained,” Asking if they knew where you were going, if they had heard from you since you left, how you responded to the situation, and such like. And – and - when we heard that you believed the doctors, and thought you were, in fact, in a coma, and seemed quite happy to leave the hospital under this impression, well – we thought that – that...” His voice trailed off and he looked down at the floor, distinctly embarrassed. 

Professor McGonagall emitted a soft sigh before continuing Mr. Weasley’s sentence. “We thought that it might be kinder to let you go on believing that you were in a coma.”

Ron and Hermione both inhaled sharply at this, before making noises of protest. However, Harry paid little attention to his two best friends and rose slowly to his feet once more, trembling with anger.

“You thought that it would be _kinder_ to – to abandon me in the muggle world? With no family, no friends and nowhere to go? Thinking I’d gone insane because all of my memories weren’t actually real? Why?!” Harry’s voice increased in volume throughout his response, until he was practically shouting at the other witches and wizards.

“Squibs are often seen as outcasts in our world, and are treated like muggles by many wizards. In fact, many squibs do go on to live as muggles, as they can’t face the stigma of living as a non-magical person, surrounded by magical objects and people. We just thought... that maybe if you believed that there was no such thing as magic, then you would be able to live out your life in the muggle world – lead a happier life than the one that awaited you in the Wizarding World. We only wanted to protect you, Harry.” Professor McGonagall answered his shouts in a voice that was much softer, and gentler than he had ever heard from the formidable woman.

Harry gazed upon the ashamed faces of four of the people he respected most, and felt an incredible sadness tear through his body, an emotion almost as powerful as the one that swept through him when he saw his godfather pass beyond the veil. But he quickly bottled away his feelings, and let a cold expression cover his face.

“Yeah, I can totally see how leaving me completely alone in the muggle world ‘protects’ me” Harry said in a sarcastic voice that was laced with his rage. Harry angrily jerked his arm in Malfoy’s direction.  “He’s done more to protect me than you lot, and he bloody hates me!” Mrs. Weasley gave a great sob at this, and rose from her seat, as if she were moving to smother Harry in a hug.

“We were only trying to help, dear,” Mrs. Weasley sniffled, shinning tears sliding down her cheeks, “But now you can stay, we didn’t want you to live as a muggle, we only thought –“

“It doesn’t matter.” Harry answered, feeling awful that he was treating the woman who had shown him such kindness in such a callous manner, but his anger overrode his other emotions. “Ron, Hermione, I’ll see you later.” And with that, Harry turned his back on his friends, and the people he thought were like his family, and left the room.

...........................................

Harry wandered the halls of Malfoy Manor, lost in his thoughts, for what seemed like hours but was probably only about forty five minutes. He eventually found his way back to the room he had slept in last night, and leant heavily against the wall next to the door. He slid slowly down the wall, and buried his head in his hands, replaying the previous scene in his head over and over again. After another long period of time, the door next to him swung open and Malfoy sauntered in.

Harry sighed, and stood up before addressing his rival. “Don’t get your wand in a twist Malfoy, I’m leaving now. Can you take me back to Ron and Hermione? Your house is a bloody maze - I think I’d get lost on the way and you’d probably find me in some obscure place three weeks later, dead from starvation.”

“Don’t be stupid Potter, the elves would never let that happen – it’s like a crime for a house-elf to let a guest go hungry. And don’t bother, I told the Weasel and his girlfriend, and the rest of the fan club to leave.” Malfoy drawled as he lounged in an armchair, examining his cuticles.

Harry started in surprise, and turned to face the blond at this statement. “What – you want me to stay?!”

“Not particularly. But your pathetic life does amuse me, and since I’m being forced to stay here with only the elves for company, you may as well stay and provide me with entertainment.” Malfoy replied in a haughty voice.

Harry sighed heavily. ‘ _Of course. Well at least someone’s enjoying this’_ he thought to himself.

“Thanks Malfoy.” He replied in a quiet voice.

Malfoy merely shrugged, seemingly fascinated by his nails. However, after a few seconds of silence he looked up at Harry with an evil and mischievous gleam in his grey eyes.

“You know what I think this situation requires?”

Harry looked at Malfoy, extremely confused by this sudden change of character, and shook his head.

Malfoy smirked. “Firewhiskey, Potter. We’re getting drunk.”


	9. Chapter 9

Harry gaped at the other boy. ‘ _Why does Malfoy want to get drunk with me of all people?’_ The last few days that they had spent together had really changed Harry’s perception of the Slytherin – what with Malfoy bringing him back to the manor and allowing him to stay in one of the guest rooms – but this almost friendly remark was too much for Harry to handle.

“Wha-?” Harry stammered incredulously.

Malfoy smirked. “Aw, has Potty never tried Firewhiskey before?”

Harry scowled at the blonde boy – he had in fact tried Firewhiskey before, right after Mad-Eye had died, and it only served to remind him of that dark time. “I have, I just don’t think it’s a good idea –“

“What, are you scared Potter?” Malfoy taunted Harry in the same way he had done in their second year at Hogwarts.   

 A small smile graced Harry’s lips at this question – he couldn’t very well back down now, and Malfoy knew it.

“You wish.”

After Harry’s reply, Malfoy flashed his signature smug smirk and trotted quickly from the room. Harry sighed, and exited through the doorway to join him.

“So,” Harry said as he walked alongside his childhood rival, “Where are we going to get this Firewhiskey then? I mean, you can’t leave the manor and I –“Malfoy cut him off with a scoff.

“Honestly Potter, don’t you know that every good wizarding family has at least one bottle of Firewhiskey in their house? It’s like some kind of unspoken law. But then again, you haven’t spent much time with any _good_ families so I suppose it’s excusable.”

Harry drew out his reply through grounded teeth. “If all you’re going to do is insult everyone I know all night then-“But he was once again cut off by Malfoy, who was still smirking arrogantly at him.

“You need to learn to take a joke Potter. Now, my father’s study is just down here...” Malfoy turned the corner they had reached and darted into an open doorway. Harry followed behind him, still smarting from his previous comment. However, he was distracted from his disgruntled thoughts by the sight of Lucius Malfoy’s study. It was not, as he expected it to be, full of mysterious dark objects and deadly items, but was instead rather open and airy. A large window overlooking the extensive grounds was situated on one wall and allowed light to flood into the room. The other three walls were mainly covered by wooden shelves, which were almost completely filled with books and rolls of parchment. In the centre of the room there was a magnificent mahogany desk, on which stood several silver photo frames. The moving photos showed several images – one of Narcissa Malfoy holding a newborn Draco, another of Malfoy when he was about five or six, holding a small broomstick and grinning widely, and perhaps the most surprising of all was the photo that showed the whole Malfoy family.

Narcissa was sat in an armchair, her pale hands folded in her lap, and Lucius and Draco were stood behind her. The expressions that he could see on their aristocratic faces was the thing that shocked Harry the most, as all three of them were smiling, not widely, but enough to be seen. Harry crouched slightly for a better look at the photo – he would guess from Draco’s height that it was taken in his third year at Hogwarts, about four years ago.

Harry had always thought of the Malfoy family as cold and pretentious, only caring about their appearance, but the family that he saw in those three photographs showed a completely different side to them. The Draco Malfoy he knew had never smiled like that. The Lucius Malfoy he knew wouldn’t have family pictures on his desk. But as Harry thought back over some of the family’s actions in the war – Lucius trying to persuade Voldemort to stop the battle so he could look for his son, Narcissa lying to Voldemort’s face, and Draco himself refusing to identify Harry and his friends – he realised that they were just a family trying to protect themselves, admittedly one that had initially chosen the wrong side to fight for, but a family all the same.

“Aha! I knew they were around here somewhere.” Harry was pulled from his deep thoughts by the triumphant cry of Malfoy, who was now stood next to an open cupboard holding two full bottles of Firewhiskey. He threw one of the bottles to Harry, who caught it as easily he would a golden snitch.

“Let the fun begin.” Malfoy drawled with a smirk on his face.

................................................

An hour later and Harry was sprawled face down on an expensive, leather couch. Malfoy was sat on the floor, leaning back onto the same couch, his head resting close to Harry’s feet. He was clutching an open bottle of Firewhiskey, and was drinking from it occasionally, somehow not missing his mouth even though his eyes were closed. They had started the evening by pouring small amounts of the amber liquid into glasses and taking it in turn to toast to a variety of things, each getting more ridiculous as the drinking went on – Harry’s favourite being Malfoy’s toast to ‘the pitiful and miserable wreck that is both of our lives’. However, after they had polished off the first bottle of Firewhiskey, they had devolved into passing the bottle between them and drinking straight from it.

With a groan, Harry turned onto his back and sat up. Malfoy silently passed him the bottle and Harry took it from him, equally as quiet, and tipped it into his mouth. Harry, in his drunken state, decided that the silence between them had been there for too long, and began what he thought was a perfectly acceptable conversation.

“Why’re you such a git?” He slurred, gesturing towards the blonde with the open bottle and spilling some of the drink onto the wooden floor.

Malfoy opened his tightly shut eyes and turned to face Harry. “You’re the git.” 

Harry snorted drunkenly before replying. “I knew you’d say that. But I meant at school, with all the insults and...” Harry trailed off, gesticulating wildly with his hands, “git-like stuff – the ‘Potter Sucks’ badges and the inqusta...inquisa...Umbridges’ squad thing.”

Malfoy sniffed haughtily. “The badges said ‘Potter Stinks’ not ‘Potter Sucks’, I’ll have you know. And you were a git to me first.”

“No I wasn’t!” Harry replied indignantly.

Glaring, Malfoy extended his arm towards Harry, silently asking for the bottle. Harry took a final slurp, before handing it over to the other boy, who drank from it deeply as soon as it was firmly ensconced in his hand.

“Yes, you were. On the train, in first year. You “, he emphasised this word by poking his finger into the middle of Harry’s chest, “rejected my handshake.”

“You insulted Ron!”

“He laughed at my name first!”

Harry was stumped at how to reply to this statement for a few moments, before inspiration struck him. “You insulted Hagrid the first time we met, in Madam Malkin’s.” He countered, his arms crossed over his chest triumphantly. “Ha, I win.”

Malfoy’s expression turned sulky at this statement. “I was only telling the truth. And it’s not like it was _you_ I was talking about.”   

“Well Hagrid was the first friend I ever made, and you said some horrible stuff about him. Did you think I would want to be friends after that?” Harry replied, glossing over the fact that some of what Malfoy said all those years ago turned out to be true – Hagrid was not the best wizard, and when he had a bit to drink, well...

Malfoy pouted slightly for a few seconds, before pouncing on the first part of Harry’s reply. “You’re lying - Hagrid can’t have been your first friend. We were eleven; you must’ve had friends before that.”  

With those words, Malfoy and Harry swapped expressions: Malfoy grinned smugly whereas Harry’s expression dampened significantly. Harry quietly mumbled something under his breath.

“What was that? The sound of defeat?” Malfoy taunted, still smirking at Harry.

Harry tried to glare at the blonde, but the effect was ruined by the look of deep-rooted sadness that was evident on his face.

“I’m telling the truth.” He spoke quietly, as if this somehow would make the words less true. Malfoy looked flabbergasted at this and passed the Firewhiskey bottle back to Harry, before giving a gesture that invited him to continue. Harry took a big gulp of the amber liquid before spilling the whole, horrible story of his childhood. He talked about the Dursleys, how they hated him, how they hated magic, how Dudley beat him and anyone who tried to befriend him up, everything. He even told him about the cupboard.

Harry didn’t know why he had decided to tell Malfoy everything about his childhood, tell him things that he hadn’t even told Ron and Hermione about - although they had tried to get him to several times. He strongly suspected that the amount of alcohol he had imbibed had something to do with it though.

After he was finished with his tale, Harry waited for the insulting statement from Malfoy that he was expecting. But none came. Harry looked at his rival, wondering if he had fallen asleep during his long story perhaps, but was shocked to see that Malfoy was staring at him, his mouth gaping wide.

Another few minutes of this passed. Malfoy eventually seemed to recover and spoke up in a quiet, bewildered voice. “But – but, you’re Harry Potter! Your muggle family was supposed to _worship_ you! That’s what everyone thought anyway!”

Harry snorted. “Well everyone thought wrong.” He supposed that it was Malfoy’s drunkenness that allowed him to be even slightly sympathetic towards Harry – he had always laughed at Harry’s orphaned state before this night.

After this statement, there was a long stretch of silence between the two boys. The only sounds came from the passing back and forth of the now nearly empty Firewhiskey bottle.

“Well now you know a _lot_ more about me, I think I deserve to know something about you. Something big.” Harry’s drunken brain had decided once again that it was not content to sit in silence, and had evidently decided to turn the questions back on Malfoy.

Malfoy thought about this for a few moments, before taking a deep breath and answering very quickly.”Ithinkimightbegay.” he said, his words slurring together due to both the speed at which he was answering and the amount of alcohol in his body. 

“What?” questioned Harry, who hadn’t understood what Malfoy was trying to say.

“Ithinkimgay.”Malfoy said again, this time in an even quieter voice.

“Again, what?”

 Malfoy looked extremely annoyed at Harry’s question, and answered once more, practically shouting this time. “I said ‘I think I might be gay’. Honestly Potter, are you deaf?”

It was Harry’s turn to be shocked into silence. He hadn’t expected this – he thought Malfoy would have said something stupid and insignificant, like his favourite Quidditch team. ‘ _Malfoy...is gay?’_

“But – but, I thought you were going out with Pansy Parkinson?” Harry stuttered, unable to wrap his alcohol-addled mind around Malfoy’s secret.

Malfoy rolled his eyes at his question. “In fourth year, Potter. Is me being gay scary to you or something?”

Harry said nothing, but his mind was whirling. He himself had figured out the whole ‘liking blokes’ thing a long time ago. Even before the final battle at Hogwarts he had known. His excuse to Ginny about him not being able to put her in danger had been half a lie – he didn’t want her getting hurt, but he also no longer wanted a romantic relationship with her. She was like a sister to him, and it felt completely wrong. Partly because it was kind of weird to be dating the daughter of the woman who had practically adopted you, but also because Harry had begun to notice that the ‘other side’ interested him more. He had realised that maybe it wasn’t normal to check out the other boys when changing in the locker room, and wish that your girlfriend had a flatter chest when you were kissing her. However, he had no chance to investigate this ‘issue’ further because after sixth year he had gone off on a terrifying camping trip that took him all over the country.

“Potter?” Harry jerked out of his thoughts at the sound of Malfoy’s quiet voice and looked at the blonde. At the somewhat vulnerable expression on his face, Harry realised that he had not answered the other boy’s question.

“No. I don’t think it’s scary...in fact,” Harry paused, debating on whether or not to finish his sentence, “I think I might be gay too.”

Malfoy looked stunned at this, but there was also a hint of relief in his gray eyes. “Really? I didn’t know anyone else who...Have you ever, you know...”

Harry shook his head violently. “No, nothing like that.”

“Oh.”

They both lapsed into silence once more, but they continued to stare at each other in a kind of drunken haze. However, Harry had started noticing things about Malfoy – his pale, unmarked skin, his bright, piercing gaze, his pink, pouty lips... But before his drunken brain could make him say something stupid like ‘Hey here’s an idea, lets snog’, Malfoy had moved closer towards him and pressed those perfect lips against his own.

Harry made a strange squeaking noise, and struggled for a few seconds before he relaxed into the kiss with a small moan. His previously frantic brain had come to a standstill at the amazing sensation, and there was only one thought in his head.

‘ _Oh my god...I’m kissing Draco Malfoy.’_


	10. Chapter 10

Harry awoke feeling very uncomfortable, and very squashed. As one would normally do upon waking and finding yourself trapped under a mysterious object, he decided to open his eyes and find out what exactly what was pinning him to the uneven surface beneath him. However, he regretted this decision almost immediately and promptly squeezed his eyes shut. The mere act of opening his eyes was akin to pressing hot coals against his retinas, and Harry moaned pitifully at the sensation.

After a few minutes of silent preparation, Harry decided to brave the burning light once again and squinted through his lashes. But what he saw quickly had him wishing that he had heeded the warning provided by the awful pain he had just experienced.

Familiar blonde hair lay across his chest and a few stands tickled at his nose. Widening his eyes in disbelief, Harry saw that the hair had a head attached to it, and that particular head belonged to one Draco Malfoy. Making a noise that was _not_ a squeal, thank you very much; Harry quickly sat up in shock and shoved the lean, _shirtless,_ body of his rival onto the wooden floor. Malfoy landed with a loud thump, and was forcefully awakened from his deep slumber.

“Wha-! Ouch...” Malfoy half-shouted, before groaning loudly and clasping his head. “What’s going on?”

Harry, who had stood upon removal of the body that was keeping him confined to what he now realised was a sofa, was wringing his hands frantically. ‘ _What the hell happened last night?!’_ Ignoring the ache that was slowly building in his head and the nausea that was turning his stomach, Harry focused on his memories of last night. He remembered the awful conversation he had had with Ron and Hermione, his despair at learning that his magical powers had been sucked away, Malfoys suggestion of getting drunk... ‘ _That must be why my head feels like it was trampled by a herd of Hippogriffs. But not why Malfoy was_ sleeping _on me!”_ His recollections after that point, though, were distorted by the vast quantities of Firewhiskey he had imbibed. He could vaguely remember making toasts, rambling about Malfoy’s status as a git and...

‘ _Oh Merlin. I came out to Draco Malfoy. And then kissed him!’_ Harry’s alcohol addled brain could take it no longer and he collapsed back onto the sofa, hyperventilating slightly.

Malfoy seemed to have recovered from his sudden awakening, and was apparently thinking about something very hard, judging from the expression on his pale face. When he released a small gasp, and went paler than normal, Harry knew that he too was recalling the events of the previous evening. The blonde shot suddenly to his feet, and wobbled slightly before making a pained noise and raising his hand to his head once more. In his half-dressed state, with his hair sticking out all over the place, Harry had never seen the boy look so...human. But before Harry could ponder further over this new discovery, Malfoy muttered “Oh fuck!” and darted swiftly from the room, his hand covering his mouth.

Harry sighed and rubbed at his still stinging eyes while contemplating the events that had brought him to this moment. As much as he tried, he could not recollect anything after that kiss. He desperately wanted to know what had happened afterwards though. Did they do anything other than kissing? Why had the Slytherin ended up asleep on top of Harry? Did Malfoy enjoy it? Did _he_ enjoy it? ‘ _No! It’s Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake! I would never enjoy kissing him...would I?’_ Harry quickly decided that this was a subject he never wanted to think about ever again, and stood up in preparation to leave the room. ‘ _Maybe I can convince Malfoy that it never happened...’._ With that last thought prominent in his mind, Harry exited into the hall to try and track down the hung-over blonde.

........................................

Harry was currently stuck in the most awkward situation of his life. After he had failed to find Malfoy in the maze that was Malfoy Manor, he had headed towards where he thought the kitchens were, in search of a glass of water, some dry toast and maybe a hang-over potion. Several wrong turns later, and Harry found himself in the massive kitchens. However, his plan to have a small breakfast before finding a bed to collapse in was foiled by the veritable army of house-elves working in the kitchens, who couldn’t possibly allow a guest to have such simple fare. They insisted on preparing a lavish feast for his morning meal and then escorted him to the main dining room. After a few minutes of queasily trying to force down a plate of steaming, hot food, Malfoy wandered in, looking as awful as Harry felt. His grey eyes were bloodshot, and there were massive bags underneath them. His blonde hair was still sticking up all over the place, and even though he was now fully dressed, it was in yesterday’s clothes. Malfoy had then proceeded to sit down at the opposite end of the table to Harry, before lowering his head to rest on the polished, wooden surface, and had shown no signs of movement since. And now Harry felt like he was drowning in the enormous silence that had grown between them.

Harry, gathering all of his Gryffindor courage, cleared his throat, as if he was about to talk. Malfoy raised his head slightly in response and shot him a glare that clearly said ‘If you say anything, I _will_ kill you’. Ignoring this, Harry ploughed on with what he now realised was a poorly thought-out plan.

“So, last night...” Harry said in what he hoped was a casual, offhand manner, “We uh, uh –well-“ The viciousness he could see glinting in the other boy’s eyes had caused him to lose his train of thought and he quickly lapsed back into silence.

“ _Don’t,_ Potter. It was just a kiss, nothing more than that.” Malfoy spat venomously.

“I just think that we should talk – “Harry said in a small voice, carrying on despite the obvious danger in front of him.

“Potter!” Malfoy shouted, before groaning at the loud noise and shutting his eyes.

“I was only going to say that we should forget it ever happened. And never mention it again. Ever. It’s probably for the best.” Harry’s statement seemed to have a different effect on Malfoy than his previous two attempts at conversation. Instead of shouting at him or glaring, he looked at Harry in a slightly menacing way, a look that Harry was very familiar with after all of the years they had spent fighting at Hogwarts.

“So Saint Potter doesn’t want it getting around that he isn’t as perfect as everyone thinks he is. I wonder what the headlines would be like if this got out – ‘The Chosen One chooses boys?’, perhaps? Or maybe ‘The Saviour - A Shirtlifter?’” Malfoy said with an evil sneer on his pointed face.

“No! I just meant –“Harry stammered. He tried not to show it, but Malfoy’s words cut deep. He had been worried about how everyone would react to his sexual preference ever since he had first considered liking boys. Would they treat him the same? Or would some of the people he trusted the most turn their backs on him? 

“So, when did you realise you were not a woman’s man then?” Malfoy questioned, with a small smirk on his face.

Harry squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, not liking how the questions had been turned back on him. He _really_ didn’t want to discuss his sexuality with Draco bloody Malfoy. “Quite some time ago, actually. But no one knows. Besides you, of course.” 

Malfoy’s smirk grew wider at his comment.”Oh? My, do I feel special. The first one to know Harry Potter’s biggest secret. I could sell this to the Prophet for millions.”

A scowl appeared on Harry’s now pink face. “Don’t you dare, Malfoy. Rita Skeeter is a susceptible woman; she’d take your word for it in a minute. And anyway, you wouldn’t want to do that, especially now that I have information that you probably wouldn’t want getting out to the public.” It was now Malfoy’s turn to scowl, and Harry leapt at the chance to reclaim the upper hand in their discussion.

“When did you find out, you know, about the whole gay thing?” Harry asked, curious and slightly embarrassed at the same time.

Malfoy looked at him sharply, but his glare faded slightly when he spoke. “I don’t really know. Somewhere in the back of your mind you always know. Even before I realised what I was feeling, I knew. I think sometime last year, it hit me. But I’d always known. I just hadn’t comprehended what those feelings meant until then.”

Silence flooded then room as both boys seemed to get lost in their own thoughts. The quiet lasted for several minutes, until it was broken by the loud ‘pop’ of apparition. A small house-elf had appeared in the room, and had quickly turned to Malfoy to explain his presence.

“Master Draco, sir, a Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger are at the door. Should Mipsey be allowing them in?” it squeaked, as it bowed deeply to the blonde boy.

Harry sighed. _‘Time to face the cavalry.’_  


	11. Chapter 11

After Malfoy had agreed to Ron and Hermione’s visit, Mipsey had escorted Harry to the front door to greet his friends. For some reason, Harry was extremely anxious about their visit – whether this was because of what had happened the last time he saw them or if he was worried about them suspecting something between him and Malfoy, he didn’t know. But either way, the normal feeling of happiness that filled his body when he thought about his friends wasn’t there, being replaced by a slightly queasy feeling in his stomach – although that could be put down to the fact that he was still hung-over.

Upon entering the large foyer, Harry saw Ron and Hermione standing together, holding hands, and looking in much better condition than Harry had seen them in for months. They had still looked slightly frazzled at their last meeting – probably because of Harry’s disappearance. Looking upon their worried faces, Harry felt his own anxiety slip away and he walked over quickly to join them.

“Hey guys,” he started, scratching the back of his neck in an apologetic manner, “I’m really sorry about the other day. I was just –“

However, Harry didn’t have chance to finish his sentence, as Hermione interrupted him by suddenly flinging her arms around him in a massive hug.

“It’s fine Harry, don’t worry about it. We know you were...upset about what happened.” Hermione released him from her tight grip just as suddenly as she’d grabbed onto him, before looking down to rummage in the satchel that was dangling from her shoulder, “Anyway, I’ve been doing some research about this curse, and I found a few books that might...” Hermione was now off spouting information in the way that only Hermione can do. Harry exchanged amused glances with Ron, before quickly interrupting Hermione before she could properly start rambling.

“That’s great, Hermione, thanks. Why don’t we go sit down somewhere and you can tell me all about it.” Harry said in what he hoped was a casual tone, because his head was really starting to throb again and he needed to sit down before Hermione went off onto an overly complex explanation.

“Okay then. Oh, by the way, we’ve brought your things, just in case you didn’t want to come back to Grimmauld...”Hermione said in a sad, yet hopeful tone, whilst gesturing to Ron, who was swinging Harry’s familiar backpack off his shoulders. Harry took the bag from Ron’s outstretched hand, before turning to walk through the doorway to try and find a sitting room, all the while thinking about Hermione’s implied question. Did he want to go back to Grimmauld place? Surprisingly, he found that upon thinking about it, the answer was ‘not really’. This thought almost caused him to stop in his tracks: why on earth did he want to stay in this blood manor with Draco Malfoy, of all people, when he had the option to go and stay in a house with Ron and Hermione, his best friends in the world. Shaking his head to get rid of these bizarre and distracting thoughts, he started his search for a place to talk.

..................................................

“...and technically you’re not even a squib – most people would consider you a muggle at this point.”

After finding a sitting room, Hermione had extracted no less than ten books from her bulging satchel and had immediately launched into an extremely detailed explanation of the curse laid upon Harry. She had detailed its origins, known uses, several case studies and that was just what Harry had heard before he tuned her out. He had been distracted by the rucksack that Ron had brought and its contents. Inside it Harry had found some of his clothes, his invisibility cloak, the Marauders map, some old spell books and the Mokeskin pouch that Hagrid had give him for his seventeenth birthday. Tipping the contents into his palm, Harry saw the pitiful collection of old and broken items that he had deemed important enough to store in there. He was just rolling the remnants of his broken holly wand in his palm when Hermione’s last statement ignited his interest.

“Wait, why wouldn’t I be considered a squib? That’s what a person who knows about the Wizarding world, but can’t use magic, right?” Harry questioned.

“Well you said you couldn’t see the Leaky Cauldron, or the Burrow right?” Hermione queried with an inquisitive look on her face.

“Yes, but I thought that was just because they had protective enchantments on them, left over from the war or something.”

Hermione sighed before looking at Harry with a great amount of pity. “I’m sorry Harry, but you’re not a squib. Squibs can see those kind of magical buildings because they have some small amounts of magic in them from their parents – that’s what makes them so good at working with magical animals, like Kneazles. The animals can sense that they are a slightly magical being so respond well to them, but don’t see the squib as a powerful threat. Anyway, the curse basically drained all of your magic, so you can’t see the magical buildings or use the Floo network. I’m not sure about apparition; the books don’t really go into a lot of detail, but...”

Harry lost interest at this point, as Hermione went into detail about the finer points of muggle vs. squib, and his eyes were drawn to the broken wand that he was still rolling in his palm. He looked over at Ron, who was sat on the same couch as Harry, watching Hermione talk with a slightly glazed look in his eyes. He was idly turning pages in a large book that sat in his lap, not taking in either a word that was being said or on the pages in front of him. Harry nudged him slightly with his elbow and he startled out of his daydream.

“Hey, can I borrow your wand for a second. I just want to try something.” Harry murmured under his breath so Hermione wouldn’t hear him. Ron looked at him questioningly for a second, before extracting his wand from his pocket and handing it to Harry.

Harry took a deep breath and waved the borrowed wand in the familiar ‘swish and flick’ motion of the Levitation charm. “Wingardium Leviosa!” Harry whispered fiercely, concentrating hard on the book on the small table in front of him. He sighed heavily when the book showed no sign of movement and even though he had expected it, the actualization of the curse still stung.

Harry thrust the wand back at Ron and stood up, interrupting Hermione’s rant on the under-publicized status of the Draining curse.

“I’m just going to go for a walk – clear my head a bit. You guys stay here, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Harry said in a voice that he hoped didn’t convey the depression that was coursing through his body. He turned away from Ron and Hermione’s shocked faces, and walked quickly through the open door. Gathering his bearings, Harry headed in the direction of the front entrance so that he could wander around the vast grounds.  

....................................

After Harry had mooched about the gardens for several minutes and calmed down enough to stop muttering angry comments about his situation under his breath, he started to head back to the manor. However, he was quickly distracted by a lone figure that stood at the side of a small pond, clothed in black robes. ‘ _Malfoy.’_ Harry thought to himself, before meandering in the other boy’s general direction.

As he got closer, Harry could see that Malfoy had raised the sleeve of his robe slightly, so that the red-black stain of the Dark Mark could be seen on his pale skin. His long, slender figure was lightly tracing the slowly fading tattoo and he was obviously deep in thought. Upon noticing Harry’s imminent arrival, Malfoy quickly stopped what he was doing and pulled his sleeve down. When Harry didn’t initiate a conversation, Malfoy cleared his throat slightly and started one himself.

“I didn’t want this, you know. Well, I suppose at first I did – I just wanted to prove myself, and make up for my father’s mistakes. But I regretted it almost immediately. The things he made me do...Malfoy’s shouldn’t bow to _anyone_.” Malfoy spoke fiercely, as if he was expecting Harry to contradict him.

“I know,” Harry replied, “That night on the astronomy tower – you were lowering your wand. You weren’t going to kill Dumbledore.”

Malfoy turned to face Harry, looking completely stunned. “How do you know about that?”

Harry shrugged, staring at the murky water of the nearby pond. “I was there. Under my invisibility cloak. I saw everything.”

Malfoy gaped at Harry for a few seconds, eyes wide with shock and disbelief, before he recovered his composure. However, it was Harry’s turn to question him.  

“And here at the manor, when the snatchers brought us. You didn’t tell Bellatrix that it was me, and I know you knew. Why did you do that?” Harry queried, hoping to finally get an answer to the question that had been bothering since that fateful day.

“I thought that you were the best chance of getting rid of _him_ once and for all. If you had died, then there would have been no hope. I had to lie – to try and save myself and my family, even if it was by supporting the other side.” Malfoy said in a quiet voice.

They stood in silence for a few minutes, before Harry spoke up.

“Thanks, by the way. For saving me.”

Malfoy stared at Harry for a second, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Likewise. For the Room of Requirement.”

After a few more minutes of mutual silence, Malfoy spoke up once more.

“Don’t think that this makes us friends, Potter. Because it doesn’t.” And with a move so reminiscent of Professor Snape, Malfoy turned and strode back to the house, his robes billowing in the gentle wind.    


	12. Chapter 12

After the conservation with Malfoy, Harry continued on his journey back to the manor. Harry had decided that once he arrived, he would apologize to his friends for being a prat and storming off, before carrying on assisting them with the research – which he now guiltily realized they were doing purely for his benefit. ‘ _I’m such a rubbish friend’_ he sighed inwardly, as he entered through the massive wooden doors. _‘I wonder if I’ll actually be able to find the room I left them in without the use of a map...’_

...............................................

Three hours later, and Harry, Ron and Hermione had still not found anything of use in any of the books Hermione had brought with her. No possible cures, no way to regain his magic, nothing. Harry had, however, found that the majority of wizards who didn’t die from the initial loss of magic did go on to commit suicide. ‘ _Lovely’_ Harry thought sarcastically. 

After they had fully scoured all of the books and come up with nothing, Hermione decided that she would have to replenish her supply. With a promise that they would return as soon as they had located more books, a task which would be hard enough to complete considering the rarity of the subject, Ron and Hermione had left the manor in order to return to Grimmuald Place. However, this only occurred after a conversation in which both Ron and Hermione had tried to persuade him to come back to his Godfather’s old house with them. Harry had avoided their questions, insisting that it wasn’t them; he just couldn’t stay at _that_ house, he needed space to come to terms with the curse, he wanted to give them time alone as a new couple – basically giving them any excuse that he could think of. But none of his excuses had been fully truthful. All in all, Harry himself didn’t really understand why he didn’t want to go back with his friends – all he knew was that for some insane reason, he wanted to stay in the manor with Draco bloody Malfoy.

Shaking his dark head, Harry turned his mind away from those dangerous thoughts and looked around for a clock. Noticing the lateness of the hour, Harry decided that he would take a trip down to the kitchens, and get a snack before he went to bed, as he had evidently missed dinner. He quickly turned away from the door that he had just witnessed his friends walk through and vanished into the maze of corridors in search of a sandwich, or maybe some treacle tart.

.....................................

One successful trip later and Harry found himself back in the bedroom where he had been sleeping for the past few nights. He quickly disrobed and clambered under the sheets, fervently hoping that tonight’s dreams would be as uneventful as they had been every night since he had arrived at the manor, and drifted off into unconsciousness almost immediately. However, his wishes obviously went unheard by whatever subconscious force that conjures dreams, and Harry soon found himself in an unusual, but terrifying, nightmare.

_Harry stood outside 4 Privet Drive, warily watching the familiar door swing open in front of him. He reluctantly wandered towards it, as though he was being pulled by and invisible force. Harry stepped through the open doorway, heading for the living room. Inside he found all three of the Dursleys, sitting on the couch, staring at the dark screen of the television. They turned to face him as he entered and he shuddered at the blank, empty faces that were pointed in his direction._

_“You came back,” said Aunt Petunia, in a cold, dead voice, “You’re like us now.”_

_“None of that freakishness left. All gone.” Uncle Vernon said in a monotone voice that was so unlike his normal boastful tone._

_“You can stay here now. We want you to stay here. With us. Forever.” That was Aunt Petunia again, and as she spoke, Vernon and Dudley rose from their seats and lumbered slowly towards Harry. The dark haired boy tried to move away, but found he couldn’t respond to the threat they were presenting. Cool, clammy hands wrapped around his arms and slowly dragged him out of the room. The door to the cupboard under that stairs opened in the same ominous way that the front door had done and the two male Dursleys shoved Harry into it, swiftly closing the door so he couldn’t escape. Harry pounded on the wooden door, screaming for them to let him out, but they remained silent. The walls of the cupboard slowly started coming towards him – the already small space getting even smaller. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe; he was going to die..._

Harry startled awake. His face was covered with sweat and his hair was plastered to his forehead. He was panting heavily and his hands were visibly trembling in the pale morning sunshine. ‘ _Well that was...interesting’_ Harry thought to himself, before dragging his pale body out of bed and wandering towards the bathroom. He showered quickly, and almost sighed in relief when he was able to dress in the clothes that Ron had brought him – he had been wearing the same clothes for over a week and they were starting to smell. Gathering himself together, Harry headed for the door. ‘ _Time for another ‘fun’ breakfast with Malfoy.’_

.........................................

Harry was sat at the long, wooden dining table, idly twirling a fork in his hands as he thought about the dream he had experienced last night, when Malfoy entered the room in a flurry of swirling robes. He strode quickly to the head of the table and sat down. Harry could see no trace of the worrisome boy he had spoken to yesterday at the pond – instead he saw a powerful, young man whose cool, collected expression betrayed no emotion. As Malfoy sat, a house-elf appeared in the room, holding a tray that bore an elegant porcelain teacup and a folded newspaper. These were placed in front of the blonde, who took a sip of his tea before shaking open the newspaper – which Harry could now see was a Daily Prophet.  

Harry watched the other boy carefully as his grey eyes travelled across the front page, and found himself intrigued by whatever article was causing Malfoy’s eyebrows to rise like that. After what seemed like a century, Malfoy finally raised his eyes from the paper and narrowed them on Harry, acknowledging him for the first time since he had entered the room.

“Well Potter. I think I have something you’ll want to see.” And with that cryptic statement, Malfoy slid the paper across the wooden surface of the table to Harry’s outstretched hand. Harry’s thoughts tumbled wildly as he began to imagine all of the possible headlines that could be splashed across the front page – was it something to do with his friends? Hogwarts? Or was it something more sinister, something to do with the still free Death Eaters...  

But the headline Harry saw was not one he had expected.

**Our Saviour – A Squib?**

The bold headline danced in front of Harry’s eyes as he gazed at the article that took up the whole front page. A picture of himself scowling at a press photographer was dead centre, and Harry watched, hypnotized, as he saw himself turn suddenly and storm out of the frame. Words like ‘rare curse’ and ‘loss of magical powers’ jumped out at him, almost taunting him in how casually they told his tale of woe. Harry broke out of his daze and scanned the page quickly, searching for the name of the author of the article. And there it was, right at the bottom of the page: Rita Skeeter. ‘ _That bitch’_ Harry thought venomously.

“Happy now, Potter?” Malfoy’s aristocratic voice brought him out of his angry thoughts.

“What? Why on Earth would I be _happy_ about this?!” Harry replied, confused as to what Malfoy was saying.

“Because now you’ll get the pity you’ve been waiting for. All your adoring fans, weeping for their so called ‘saviour’, who selflessly sacrificed his own magical powers in order to protect them all.” Malfoy spat bitterly.

Harry stared at the other boy, his well-known volatile temper rising quickly.

“You – you think _I_ did this? You think I got this article printed? Are you _insane?_ I never wanted this! Any of this!” Harry practically screamed at the other boy.

Malfoy simply stared at him, not breaking eye contact even as he reached for his cup of tea and took a sip from it. The casual disregard of his previous statements caused him to snap suddenly and Harry quickly moved towards the pale boy, eager to take his frustration from the article out on the person who had deeply insulted him. But before Harry could get close enough to the blonde to swing a fist, the teacup that Malfoy was so nonchalantly holding exploded. Malfoy swore loudly from the pain of the hot tea that had just dropped into his lap and the jagged piece of porcelain that had caught on his cheek, creating a shallow, red cut. Harry could only stare in disbelief at the opened wound, watching in awe as blood slowly began to bead up along the cut. When the blood started to run down Malfoy’s face, Harry felt his anger collapse and he turned to the table to grab a napkin before darting over to help the injured boy.

Harry hesitantly pressed the pristine white cloth against the wound, mumbling apologizes as he tried to stop the bleeding. Malfoy’s hand came up to his face and took the material from Harry, taking over the doctoring of his injury as he got up from his seat, leaving the two boys face to face.

And Harry couldn’t resist. He leant in and pressed a kiss against those pale, pink lips – desperately wanting to take away the pain he had mistakenly caused. However, those perfect lips were pulled away from his own far too soon for Harry’s liking. Malfoy’s bewildered face came into view and Harry suddenly remembered who he was kissing. ‘ _Oh Merlin. What Have I done?’_ and with that last thought, Harry turned and sprinted for the door.


	13. Chapter 13

Harry collapsed onto his bed, his chest heaving with exhaustion and his mind whirling with thoughts of what had just happened. ‘ _Oh God. I kissed Malfoy...Again. And I can’t blame it on alcohol either this time.’_ He groaned loudly and rolled over onto his stomach, before burying his head in a feather pillow. Harry could find no excuse for what he had just done – none apart from the deep yearning he had felt in that one moment, the overwhelming desire to just touch his lips to Malfoys, to clutch him close to his own body, to run his fingers through that gleaming blonde hair... ‘ _Stop it Harry! Don’t even think about it!’_ Harry shook his dark head and tried to turn his errant thoughts away from the other boy. But all he could see in his mind was Draco’s face, his stormy, grey eyes, his soft, pink lips, the pale porcelain of his skin stained by a rivulet of deep, red blood...

‘ _Wait! The cup! It exploded and cut Malfoy – was it...me?’_ Harry inhaled sharply, finally succeeding in turning his mind away from Malfoy, instead thinking about something that was now pressing much more firmly in his head. He didn’t pay attention to the destruction of the cup before – he was too focused on the injured blonde who distracted him so – but thinking about it now, Harry realised that he _must_ have been the cause of it. Malfoy wouldn’t have made his own cup of tea explode, the house-elves would never have sabotaged their master’s morning drink, and there was no one else in the room, let alone the massive manor house. Unless the cup somehow spontaneously combusted, then Harry was the only person left who could have caused the accident.

‘ _I was angry...and I always managed to do accidental magic when I was upset, like after I had that awful haircut.’_ Harry shuddered in disgust, thinking back on that dreadful style Aunt Petunia had forced upon him before he first went to Hogwarts. Did this mean that his magic was back then? Or was this just a onetime thing? ‘ _I need to talk to Hermione.’_ Harry thought. She would know what was going on; she always did. Harry quickly rolled off the bed and stood up, before moving to exit the room in order to find a house-elf that could find Hermione for him.

..................................

As soon as the helpful house-elf returned with both Ron and Hermione in tow, Harry was almost bowled over by his overly-emotional friend.

“Harry we’re so sorry! It’s all our fault! I completely understand if you hate us now –“Hermione rambled through her tears before being cut off by Harry.

“What are you apologizing for? You haven’t even been here five minutes!” Harry asked, bewildered.

“The article! That Skeeter woman has been following us around for _months_ , trying to get a lead on where you were. And well, before we came to visit the other day, we had just been to Diagon Alley to pick up some of those books we used for research and she was there. She had been following us for at least ten minutes before we got to Flourish and Blotts, and even then she only left us alone because the owner told her to get out of his store.” Hermione said.

“Rita wrote a nasty article a few weeks ago about the shop – some rubbish about an illegal potions trade going on in the basement. Reckon that might have upset him a bit.” Ron interrupted, snickering slightly as he spoke.

“Anyway, in all the confusion, we didn’t see where she went but we presumed she’d left or something. So we got the books, and just as we were leaving the shop to go to the apparition point to come here, what we thought was a fly flew into Ron’s face. But it must’ve been Skeeter in her animagus form.” Hermione exclaimed, wringing her hands nervously.

“And then you accidently brought her here with you, and she heard everything we said.” Harry finished in a flat voice. He sighed softly; he really could have done without the whole wizarding world knowing about his little problem.

“What’s done is done. Don’t worry about it guys – I don’t blame you.” Harry said, before the breath was squeezed out of him by a sniffling Hermione.

“Anyway, I’ve got something more important to tell you.” Harry said, before launching into his tale from this morning – although he left out the part where he had kissed Malfoy. When he got to the part about the teacup exploding, both of his friends gasped in shock before launching into an assault of questions.

“What! You can’t be serious mate!”

“How did the cup explode?”

“What did Malfoy say?”

Harry could see that they had reached the same conclusion he did a few minutes previously when their faces showed identical expressions of realization.

“Do you think this means that your magic is back?” They said simultaneously in stunned voices.

“That, Hermione, is what I was hoping you could tell me.” Harry said optimistically.

“Well I have a few ideas, but I don’t know. I’ve brought the few new books I found, so I think we’re going to have to do some more research-“Hermione said in an excited tone, similar to one that she used when she was answering a question in lessons. As she started unloading books from her bag, Ron and Harry exchanged a look and groaned loudly, before they settled down for another long research session.   

.......................................

“Urghh!” Hermione exclaimed loudly as she tossed the heavy-looking book towards the wall. Both Harry and Ron turned to look at their friend in shock; they had never seen the well known bibliophile treat a book with such disregard.

“There’s nothing here! Nothing!” shouted Hermione, who had got up from her position on the sofa to pace around the small sitting room.

“I can’t believe that out of all these books – there’s nothing useful at all! All I can get is that the initial loss of power causes most wizards to die, especially if they’re not particularly powerful to begin with, and those who do survive never show any signs of magic ever again! There’s nothing about anyone ever getting it back, not even any accidental magic like you did Harry!”

Harry and Ron stared at the bushy-haired girl, who was still ranting loudly, both too afraid to interrupt her in case she turned on them like she had on her beloved books. Eventually Harry had worked up enough courage to stand up and put his arm around her shoulders, stopping her furious pacing.

 “It’s alright, Hermione. You’re doing the best you can.” Harry said softly.

At his words, Hermione turned to face him and buried her face in his neck, throwing her arm around him in one of her frequent hugs.  

“But my best isn’t good enough.” Hermione whispered, sounding close to tears once again. Ron wandered over to them at this point, and slowly coaxed Hermione out of Harry’s arms and into his own. Harry watched as his two best friends stood entwined together, talking quietly, and a fond, happy smile appeared on his face. ‘ _I want that. That closeness. A relationship.’_ Harry thought. However, when his wistful thoughts turned into an image of a smirking, blonde Slytherin, he shook his head sharply, trying to banish the teasing picture from his mind.

After several minutes of deep breaths and murmured words, Hermione stepped out of Ron’s arms towards Harry.

“I’m sorry, Harry. But I think this is one thing we’re not going to find an answer for in a book.” Hermione said sadly.

“Do you have any ideas at all?” Harry asked, hoping that her brilliant mind would have at least a theory that they could work on.

Hermione sighed. “My best guess would be that the curse wasn’t done properly – it is a tricky spell to work, from what I can see in the books – and so your magic levels weren’t completely depleted. You would have enough power to do accidental magic, but it would be too minute to harness it with a wand, or another magical device. But that might be completely wrong, so I wouldn’t hold out too much hope for it.”

Harry smiled sadly at her. “Thanks anyway.”

Hermione nodded at Harry before turning to look at her boyfriend. “We ought to be going soon. We’re expected at the Burrow.”

“Mum and Dad have been trying to apologize ever since we found out what they’d done. We’re going round to have a ‘chat’. You can come too, if you want?” Ron said, his voice rising hopefully at the end of his words.

But Harry quickly shook his head in a negative response. “I’m not angry at them anymore – I understand why they did what they did – but I’ve not completely forgiven them. Maybe next time?”

Ron nodded and knelt to collect the books scattered about the room, before escorting Hermione out. Harry wandered behind them as they headed towards the entrance, staring enviously at their joined hands. He waved them off, and watched as they disappeared with a pop halfway down the drive. Harry remained stood in the open doorway for a few minutes after their departure, the smile that had been pasted on his face slowly slipping away.

‘ _What happens now then?’_


	14. Chapter 14

The next few days passed in a dull blur of wasted time. Harry did very little apart from wandering the halls of the immense manor and exploring the beautiful gardens – when he was outside, lost in the magical plants and sweet-smelling flowers, he could almost forget about the travesty that was his life.

The only other activity that Harry partook in regularly was avoiding Draco Malfoy. Even his Gryffindor heritage wasn’t enough to give him the courage to face the blonde after the kissing incident of a few days ago. Harry knew that Malfoy would be extremely angry with him, maybe even angry enough to kick him out of his house, and as Harry had no desire to leave the manor just yet, he gave the Slytherin no opportunity to shout at him. He had stopped attending meals, only venturing down to the kitchens to find food when it was necessary, he had deliberately not gone anywhere near Draco’s bloody wing of the manor, and whenever he had heard his haughty voice emanating from a nearby room, Harry had turned tail and run in the opposite direction. One time, when Harry was on one of his missions to gather food from the house-elves, Malfoy had spotted him and called his name. Harry had gaped at the blonde, who was quickly walking towards him with a pissed-off expression on his pale face, for a few seconds, before squeaking in a very unmanly way and running away. Malfoy’s shout of “You can’t run hide from me forever, Potter!” had followed him down the corridor as he sprinted away towards safety.

Why he continued to stay in the manor when he was clearly not wanted there, Harry didn’t know. It would be much easier for him to just go and stay at Grimmauld place with Ron and Hermione. But he had lasted this long, and now Harry was desperate to solve the tantalizing mystery that was Draco Malfoy. It was like his obsession from sixth year had returned, but this time it was less focused on what Malfoy was up to and more on the boy himself; his frosty personality, his sharp mind, his stormy eyes... ‘ _Stop it, Harry! Get a hold of yourself!”_ Harry mentally shouted at himself, shaking his head to stop his thoughts from heading in a dangerous direction.

..............................

Harry was sat in one of the many sitting rooms in the manor, reading an interesting book on past Quidditch world cups, wondering vaguely if he’d still be able to play the game that he loved so much, when the diminutive form of Mipsey the house-elf appeared next to him.

“Mr Potter is receiving guests. Should Mipsey be bringing them here?” The house-elf questioned in its squeaky voice.

“Er, yes please.” Harry replied. He supposed that his visitors would be Ron and Hermione, coming laden with new books so that they could carry on with the task of researching Harry’s mysterious ailment. Mipsey bowed deeply before popping out of the room. Harry stood up, and stretched, before brushing down his clothes a bit to try and make himself a bit more presentable.

After a few minutes, Hermione’s bushy head appeared in the doorway. Harry moved over to greet her with a quick hug, before turning to offer a welcome to his red-headed best friend. However, the person that followed Hermione into the room was not Ron. Instead, a tall, thin woman clothed in the pale robes commonly seen on St. Mungo’s healers came through the doorway and extended her hand.

“Mr. Potter, I’m Healer Wilkins. I was the Healer in charge of your case when you were at St. Mungo’s.” The woman said in a brisk, no-nonsense tone. Harry wordlessly shook her hand before shooting a questioning glance at Hermione, who smiled sheepishly at him but offered no explanation.

The Healer, who had noticed the silent communication between Harry and Hermione, took it upon herself to explain her presence.

“Miss Granger asked me to come here today to conduct a test on your magic levels. As you probably know by now, Mr. Potter, the curse that was placed on you should have drained your power levels completely, but Miss Granger was convinced that you had managed performed accidental magic.” Healer Wilkins glared slightly at Hermione, who stared back unabashedly. “The possibility of this being correct is minute, but I was persuaded to come here today to check. Now if you would just stay very still for a minute Mr. Potter, I can conduct the test and let you get on with your day.”

The Healer withdrew her wand from her robes and pointed it at Harry, who stiffened immediately. Wilkins murmured a few words and waved her wand in a complicated swirl, and Harry felt a slight tingling sensation in his skin. After a few moments of the odd feeling, the Healer stopped and looked intently at Harry, who quickly looked down at himself to try and figure out what the woman had done to him. To his amazement, his skin was glowing faintly gold, but only very slightly and what colour there was faded quickly.

“It’s just as I thought – your magic levels have gone up slightly since you left the hospital, but that’s probably because you’ve spent a significant amount of time here. This manor is an extremely old building, and has belonged to the Malfoy family for centuries, and has such become an inherently magical place. The resounding magic here has probably boosted your powers slightly, but only to the level that say a squib would have.” The Healer said in a brisk tone.

“But how come he was able to do magic then?” Hermione questioned.

“That I don’t know. If Mr. Potter here did, in fact, perform magic then it was probably due to the strength of his emotions feeding the magic in the manor, which in turn would result in some sort of spell being produced.” Healer Wilkins answered. “Now if you don’t mind, I have to get back to the hospital – my next shift starts in a few minutes.”

Hermione sighed.”Alright, I’ll escort you out in a minute. Let me just talk to Harry for a minute.”

The Healer nodded and left the room, leaving Harry and Hermione alone.

“I’m sorry about that Harry. I just thought – “ Hermione started to apologize but Harry cut her off.

“It’s alright Hermione. You were just trying to help.” Harry said with a rueful smile. “So where’s Ron today?”

“Oh he’s at the Burrow – we’ve moved back in you see. But they’ve not really had a chance to talk as a family for ages, so I told Ron to stay there today whilst I came to talk to you.” She sighed and looked at her watch.”I better be off – that Healer really seems to want to get to work. Oh, and Harry, Molly told me to tell you that she’s expecting you for dinner tomorrow and that if you don’t show up, she’s going to track you down and make you go because she wants to apologize properly.”  

“Wait – what’s happening tomorrow?” Harry asked, confused.

Hermione looked at him sharply. “Harry – tomorrow’s your birthday. I’ll be here at about four to apparate you to the Burrow.” And with that, Hermione threw her arms around him in a quick hug before darting out the door after the Healer.

............................

_‘My birthday...’_ thought Harry. He had completely forgotten that he would soon be eighteen, what with the coma and all. To be perfectly honest, he had never really expected that he would live to see his eighteenth, mainly because of the fact there was an insane Dark Lord trying to murder him. Although he had already come of age in the Wizarding World last year, eighteen somehow seemed a lot older than seventeen – it probably had something to do with him growing up in the muggle world, where all the possibilities of adulthood become available at the age of eighteen.

Harry was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice a certain blonde someone catch sight of him through the open doorway.

“Hello, Potter.” came a drawling voice from behind Harry’s shoulder. Harry jumped and turned around to see Malfoy smirking at him. He quickly considered making a run for it but Malfoy’s next statement had him changing his mind.

“Don’t bother. The doors locked.” Malfoy said as he slid into the seat next to Harry. “I think we need to have a little...talk.”

Harry gulped. “Er – what about?”

Malfoy smiled evilly at the dark haired boy. “Well you see Potter, I don’t like it when people think that they can just kiss me without asking permission first. And I was just wondering - why on Earth did you do just that?”

“Well, I er... You see- the thing is...” Harry mumbled as he scratched the back of his neck.

“Take your time, Potter, I don’t have any plans.” Malfoy said through a smug smirk.

Harry stammered nonsense at him for a few minutes before changing his tactic and going on the offensive.

“It’s not like you ever have plans. I mean, I’ve been here for what, two weeks? And not once has anyone come to visit you.” Harry said.

Malfoy glared at him. “It’s not like there’s ever any chance for my friends to come to visit – yours are always bloody here. And that’s another thing I never gave you permission to do – to invite all your little mudblood friends over here all the time.”

“Don’t say that word, Malfoy! And you know what? I don’t think your friends _want_ to come and see you. I think that they’ve all ditched you ‘cause you’re not all high and mighty anymore.” Harry spat viciously, feeling angry in the way that only Malfoy could make him feel.

His words had obviously struck a sore spot as Malfoys high cheekbones suddenly became tinged with red. “Shut up, Potter!” he spat.

“Make me.” Harry taunted.

Malfoy looked absolutely furious for a second, but his scowl soon became a smirk and his red cheeks paled.

“Fine Potter. But remember – you asked for this.” Malfoy said before lunging towards Harry. Harry flinched, expecting a fist to come flying at his face. Instead, slender hands wound themselves into Harry’s dark hair and turned his face towards their owner. Aggressive lips met his own, and Harry soon lost himself in the ecstasy of Draco Malfoy’s kiss.


	15. Chapter 15

Harry groaned as he felt Malfoy’s tongue push its way into his mouth and entwine with his own. He didn’t know that kisses could be like this - the ones he’d shared with Cho and Ginny were nothing compared to this blissful pleasure – and he didn’t think that he’d be able to pull himself away. Harry could already feel Malfoy’s hardness pressing against his hipbone, and he guessed that Malfoy could probably feel his own filling cock.

Malfoy – no, Draco – tugged his swollen lips away from Harry’s before shoving him hard into the sofa behind them. Harry collapsed onto it and then gasped for breath as the other boy clambered on top of him and pressed their lips together once more. The blonde let loose a small groan of his own before grinding his hips into Harry’s, eliciting a moan from the dark haired boy.

‘ _Oh god, oh god, oh god...’_ thought Harry, not trying to resist the other boy’s kisses, even though he knew that this was a bad idea. Why was this even happening? He hated Draco Malfoy and Draco Malfoy hated him - that was the way things were and would always be. So why on Earth was Draco sucking his lower lip into his mouth, raking his teeth over the skin and...smoothing his hands down Harry’s back, tugging the hem of his t-shirt up?

Harry pulled away. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Malfoy blinked, his eyes coming into focus. “What?”

Harry tried to keep his voice steady, but the sight of Malfoy’s pleasure flushed cheeks provided a challenge. “We shouldn’t be doing this. It’s not right, and besides – you don’t even like me.”

Malfoy smirked, before reaching for Harry’s hand and dragging it slowly across the sizeable lump in his straining trousers. “I think that this tells you otherwise, Potter.”

Harry shivered, biting his lip. “Really...what is happening here?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Seriously – this is what you want to talk about right now?”

Harry scowled, but before he could reply, he was pulled forward and the blonde’s lips crashed against his own. Harry gasped and allowed the other boy’s searching tongue entrance into his mouth.

“Draco.” He whispered softly, his resistance quickly fading as he felt fingers sliding up his back once again, this time pulling his t-shirt up and over his head, tossing it aside. Harry’s struggle died completely as he felt those same hands tugging at his jeans, undoing the button and pulling them off, so Harry was left only in his underwear.

Harry removed his hands from where they were tangled in Draco’s silky blonde locks and reached for the buttons on the other boy’s expensive looking shirt. He managed to slip the first two open reasonably quickly, but was stumped by the third. Eventually he gave up and ripped the shirt off, sending the infuriating buttons flying all over the room.

Draco pulled away at this point, and glared at Harry. “What are you doing, Potter? That shirt was probably worth more than your whole wardrobe.” Harry’s response was to attack Draco’s equally expensive looking trousers and pull them off, before reattaching their mouths.

They kissed for what seemed like hours, grinding against each other heavily, before Harry pulled away. “We need lube if we’re going to do this.” He said seriously.

Draco nodded, before standing up and grabbing Harry’s hand. He pulled him off the sofa and tugged him out of the door.

“Where are we going?” Harry panted.

“My room.” Draco replied.

..............................

After a mortifying trip down the corridors of Malfoy Manor in nothing but their underwear, they finally reached their destination. They tumbled through the open doorway, a whirl of tangled limbs and groping hands, and finally collapsed on top of Draco’s bed. Their mouths stayed entwined together for what seemed like an extraordinary amount of time, and Harry had almost forgotten how to breathe by the time Draco pulled away.

“I’ll get the lube.” Draco said in a husky tone, before rolling off Harry’s prone body. Harry could do nothing but nod, his voice forgotten in the heat of the moment.

Draco returned to the bed quickly, a small jar clasped in his hands, but to Harry’s surprise, the other boy tossed the jar onto the bed instead of opening it. He watched, flabbergasted, as the blonde crawled onto the bed and lay across Harry’s legs. Harry gasped sharply when Draco gracefully tugged down Harry’s boxers and tossed them onto the floor, before moving to take the head of Harry’s cock in his mouth.

Draco smirked at the sound of Harry’s surprise, before dragging his tongue across his length. He slowly began bobbing his head up and down, taking a little bit more each time, until the whole of Harry’s length was encased in his hot, wet mouth. Harry could only whimper as he felt Draco’s hands slip around to his arse, pinching it slightly as he swallowed his cock once again. That was the breaking point for Harry.

“Oh God, just fuck me.” Harry gasped.

Draco paused in his sucking and quirked an eyebrow as he looked up at Harry. “Are you sure you want me to stop, Potter?”

“Ngghh – yes! Just fuck me, Draco.” Harry panted, almost rendered unable to reply by the hand that had taken up the place of Draco’s mouth.

Draco smirked, before reaching over Harry and picking up the lube “Whatever you say, Potter.”

Harry groaned as he felt the intrusion of one of Draco’s long fingers in his most private place. He squirmed as he felt the other boy pump it in and out, in a way that seemed like he’d had a lot of experience doing this particular thing.

“I thought – oh God, don’t stop – that you’d never done anything like this before?” Harry questioned in-between his groans of pleasure, thinking back on the conversation they’d had on the night they got drunk.

A sly grin spread across Draco’s flushed face. “I said I’ve never done anything like this before with another bloke. Not that I’ve never done it before.”

“What – oh...” Harry quickly realised the implications of what Draco said, and blushed heavily, his mind conjuring up images of Draco writhing on his bed, pleasuring himself. He was so caught up in his fantasising that he barely felt a second finger being inserted into him.

“Just do it.” Harry panted, ready to move things along a bit.

Draco quickly removed his fingers and turned to get the lube once more. “Give me a pillow.”

“What? Why?” Harry asked, handing him one nonetheless.

“Better angle,” Draco said simply. “Lift up.” Harry complied, and Draco tucked the pillow under his lower back. As he was settling back down, the reality of the situation finally seemed to sink in. He breathed in a shuddering way, blinking a few times and felt Draco’s hands rest on his hips. “Ready?” The blonde asked. Harry took one final deep breath and nodded. Draco nodded back, exhaled, and then he was pressing forward, and Harry was doing his best not to flinch at the sudden intrusion into his body. “Fuck!” Draco gasped, and Harry could feel the slight quivers running through the boy’s body.

“Good?” he asked, voice wavering slightly.

“Oh, fuck yes!” Draco exclaimed, followed by a quick moan. He pushed in further and Harry couldn’t stop the pained sound he emitted as the burning started. He dug the heels of his hands against his eyes and gritted his teeth, feeling the other boy pause. “Are you alright?” Draco asked fearfully.

“Yeah. Yep. I’m okay. I’m fine.” Harry said quickly in a strained tone that was nearly an entire octave higher than usual.

“Liar.” Draco said softly, slowly pushing in even more and gasping again.

“Nghh,” was Harry’s strangled reply to that. He moved his hands from his face to grip at the headboard instead, and stared hard at the ceiling. His chest was heaving rapidly and there was already a slight sheen on it from sweat and he could feel Draco filling him at what suddenly seemed to be an unbearably slow rate. This slow, torturous pain wasn’t something Harry was too keen on and he would have greatly preferred to endure it all at once and be done with it. So gathering all of his Gryffindor courage, Harry slammed his hips up to meet Draco’s. Burning pain filled his body, and Harry cried out from the shock of it.

“Potter, what are you doing!?” Draco panted in his ear.

“Just give me a minute.” Harry said in a small voice.

After what was definitely more than a minute of waiting, Harry nodded his head. “Okay, you can move – just go slow.”

Draco began to thrust his hips shallowly. “Oh god, Potter!” His thrusts eventually began to speed up, until both of them were breathless and panting. Harry moaned as Draco’s cock found his prostate and nudged against it.

“Harder, Draco! Oh God, fuck, _harder_!” Harry shouted, before reaching down to take his own cock in his hand. Harry only managed to last for about two tugs, before he came spectacularly all over Draco’s stomach. Draco followed shortly after, and collapsed on top of Harry’s body.

“Wow.” Draco breathed, before rolling onto the other side of the bed.

Harry nodded, too exhausted to try and talk. His eyes slowly drifted shut, and the last thing he remembered before falling asleep was a strong pair of arms wrapping around him.


	16. Chapter 16

The first thing Harry felt upon waking was the smooth skin of a bare chest under his cheek. The whole length of his chest was pressed against a lean male torso, his arm thrown over a trim waist. ‘ _Oh Merlin’_ Harry thought ‘ _What have I done now?’_

Harry grasped valiantly at the memories from last night, and visions of pale, sweaty bodies, thrusting together, filled his mind. And that gorgeous face that he couldn’t quite place in his half-asleep state, that achingly familiar face...Oh Merlin! It was Malfoy! He’d slept with Draco bloody Malfoy! Harry immediately shot up straight in bed, his sleepy haze driven away by panic, but winced when the body next to him began to stir.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God...” Harry whispered to himself. What on earth had he been thinking, sleeping with Draco Malfoy? To tell the truth, he hadn’t been thinking –not at all. In fact, the only words that entered his mind last night were ‘Draco’, ‘harder’ and ‘faster’. Harry let out a little whimper (which he immediately reprimanded himself for, as whimpering isn’t exactly a sign of manliness) and thrust his hands into his hair.

Upon hearing another groan from his bed partner (‘ _Oh Merlin, that sounded so wrong’)_ , Harry shot a sideways glance at the other boy. Draco still looked fast asleep, despite the slight sounds he was making. His mouth was hanging open and his blonde hair was sticking up in little cow-licked peaks that Harry did _not_ think were totally adorable...

‘ _Did I really just think that Malfoy’s hair was adorable?’_ Harry groaned internally. He shook his head to rid himself of that thought, and began to disentangle himself from the bed sheets that had somehow been completely wrapped around him. Harry was desperate to get out of this bed and get some clothes on before Malfoy woke up. That was one conversation he did not want to face.

Then Harry remembered that he was currently staying in the same house as Malfoy. Even if he ran away now, he was going to have to face the music at some point – he couldn’t very well avoid Malfoy when they were sat opposite each other at meals. Harry was pondering whether he could employ the techniques of avoidance he had used after the second time he and Malfoy had kissed, when another small sound from the sleeping blonde had him jumping out of bed, pulling on his underwear and making a break for it.

............................

After his not-at-all cowardly run from Draco’s room, Harry had immediately entered his bathroom to have a shower, as he was feeling decidedly...sticky. He however was soon distracted from this plan of action upon seeing what looked like a love bite (or several) on his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Harry stared in horror at the dark purple bruises that were blemishing his otherwise unmarked neck, and couldn’t help but blush as he wondered how he hadn’t noticed Draco practically chewing on his neck. ‘ _Probably something to do with the fact that he had his cock up your arse, and you were basically off your head.’_ Harry thought, before shucking off his underwear and stepping into the shower.   

After a long, hot shower where he had tried (and failed) to stop thinking about the whole Malfoy situation, Harry had scrounged up some only slightly creased clothes and put them on. He then decided to head down to the kitchens to see about finding some breakfast.

..............................

Harry was sat in the dining room, surrounded by a wide variety of lavish breakfast foods and crunching on a piece of toast, when something surprising happened.  And no, as much as Harry wished it had been, it wasn’t his magical powers returning to him in a wondrous flurry.  

It was an owl.

An owl carrying a letter.

Harry immediately felt a pang of sorrow for Hedwig, his beloved pet that had diligently carried all of his mail for him. After a few seconds of self-pity, Harry pulled himself together and reached out to retrieve the letter from the clutches of the tawny owl that had flown in through the open window. He absently fed the bird his remaining toast crust as he slid a finger under the edge of the envelope and tugged it open.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We here at the Ministry of Magic are extremely glad to hear that you have recovered from your unfortunate accident, and as such, would like to cordially invite you to be the guest of honour at the Victory Ball. The ball will take place on the 20 th of August at the Ministry. If you do so choose to attend, you will be presented with an Order of Merlin, First Class, at the end of the celebrations as a token of our thanks for all of your efforts in the war. _

_Please send an owl regarding your attendance at the ball as soon as possible._

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Jeanette Thornton_

_Ministry of Magic, Ministry Events Committee_

Harry stared, absolutely flabbergasted, at the letter that he was holding in his hands. How _dare_ the ministry act as if they had any right to try and force him to pretend to be their perfect poster boy after all they had done to him! After how they had forced the Daily Prophet into slandering his name during his fifth year, saying he was crazy for believing that Voldemort had returned. And now, here they were, pretending that they had been on his side the whole time and throwing a bloody ball, with him as the guest of honour, for Merlin’s sake! Harry angrily screwed the letter up into a ball and threw it onto the floor, his chest heaving with rage.

Almost as soon as he had finished with his childish fit, Harry felt a shimmer of shame creep up his spine. It was Fudge’s fault that his name had been dragged through the mud. It wasn’t Jeanette Thornton’s, whoever she was, or the majority of people working at the ministry. Harry took a deep breath and tried to collect himself.

Harry had almost regained his cool, when a second owl came flying through the window and landed next to the other one. It stuck its leg out promptly, and Harry quickly took it, eyeing the sharp curve of the owl’s beak and the impatient look in its amber eyes.  

Upon grasping the parchment, Harry immediately knew that there was something besides a letter in the envelope. He eagerly ripped it open, momentarily distracted from his swirling thoughts about the ministry, anticipating what the mysterious object could be.

But what came clattering out of the envelope was something he did not expect. Something he didn’t expect at all.

The Elder Wand.

The bloody Elder Wand. The Deathstick. The Wand of Destiny. And there it was, on Draco Malfoy’s dining room table. ‘ _Who the bloody hell sent me this? And how did they get it?’_

Ignoring the presence of the wand on the table, Harry reached inside the envelope for the accompanying letter. He drew it out and immediately noted that this letter was nowhere near as formal as the first letter; in fact, this one looked to have been scribbled down in a rush.

_Harry,_

_Due to my position of temporary Minister for Magic, I’ve had this in my possession since the final battle, and I finally decided, for lack of a better home, that this wand should be returned to you. I know how much power it holds and thought that you, as the rightful owner of it, should be the one to decide its fate. Keep it, destroy it or give it away; it’s your choice. The rest of the ministry, and the public, think that the wand has been destroyed, so do be careful who you show it to._

_Kingsley_

_P.S I heard that the invitation to the ball was sent out today – just so you’re aware, your attendance isn’t mandatory. Oh, and Harry – Happy Birthday._

This was simply too much for Harry to take – waking up next to Draco Malfoy, an invitation to a ball and now the Elder Wand? He let the letter float from his hands and he slumped in the chair, completely overwhelmed by the events of the morning.

And somehow, Harry had managed to completely forget that it was his birthday. He had only been reminded of this fact by the postscript at the end of Kingsley’s letter. Harry groaned and dropped his head onto the cool wood of the Malfoy’s table. How did he keep managing to get himself into these kinds of situations?

After several minutes of deep breaths, Harry felt that he could possibly face at least one of the problems that had arisen this morning. He sat up and reached for the wand that he had dropped. Rolling it in his palm, Harry contemplated what he should do with the most powerful wand in the world.

He could keep it, sure, but what on earth would he do with it? Harry couldn’t use magic anymore and had no use for a magic wand.  

Harry had finally decided that he should return the wand to Dumbledore’s grave, so the wand could be reunited with its only real owner, when a small voice in the back of his head insisted that this was the wrong choice.

_‘What else do I do with it then?’_ Harry asked the pesky little voice, as he stared at the nostalgic sight of a wand in his hand. Harry held out for as long as he could, knowing that it would only bring disappointment, but eventually folded to his own desires, and flicked the wand in a familiar pattern.

“Expecto Patronum.” Harry said in a quiet, but powerful voice. The only thought in his head was of how much he wished he could see the spectral stag of his father flying out of the tip, a familiar friend in this confusing time.

After waiting for almost a minute, Harry had given up hope, and was about to lower the wand when a familiar tingling sensation spread up his arm. He watched, astonished, as his patronus slowly formed in front of his wide eyes and began to canter around the dining room.

“Oh my God.” Harry breathed, before promptly dropping the wand onto the floor.   


	17. Chapter 17

 As the Elder Wand clattered to the floor, the majestic stag vanished. Harry could do nothing but stare blankly at the empty space that his patronus had just seconds ago occupied, his mouth gaping wide. _‘What the fuck?!’_ was the only thought cycling through Harry’s head. How on earth had he managed to conjure a patronus, his magic was gone!

After a few minutes of bewildered silence, Harry eventually managed to reach down to the floor and pick up the wand, and place it on the table. He then proceeded to stare at it, until a noise from the hallway distracted him. Moving on instinct, Harry made a grab for the wand and shoved it up his sleeve, only managing to recover his original position seconds before the mahogany doors swung open.

 “Morning, Potter.” Malfoy said with a contented smirk as he sauntered in through the doorway. He walked around the table and took a seat opposite Harry. “How are you this _wonderful_ morning?”

Harry could do nothing but blush and stammer awkwardly at his blonde haired companion.

“No response? Well, I for one had a great sleep, very...satisfying.” He drawled with a sly grin on his face.

Harry could feel his face getting redder and redder, so he moved to exit the room, his appetite now well and truly gone. He mumbled an excuse about having to go and visit the Weasleys, and darted up from his seat to make a break for the door.

“Don’t think you can always run away, Potter. You’ve got to face me sometime.” Malfoy called as he rushed for the exit, causing Harry’s stride to falter slightly, but he managed to keep moving somehow.

“Oh and Potter – Happy Birthday. I’ll be waiting to give you your present later.”

Harry gulped.

....................................

After his sudden exit from the dining room, Harry headed straight for the room that held the Floo, his only plan to get out of Malfoy Manor as soon as possible. His mind was whirling with thoughts of the wand, his magic and Malfoy. ‘ _I wonder if he meant what I thought he did about my present...’_

As he reached the room that housed the enormous fireplace, Harry stopped and swore loudly. In his haste to escape from Malfoy and his taunting, he had completely forgotten that he could no longer use the Floo. Harry turned around, and started to head for his bedroom, where he could wait until Hermione came to get him, when a thought struck him. ‘ _What if I can use it again?’_ He hesitantly stepped into the fireplace, grabbing the small pot of Floo powder as he went. He took a small pinch in his fingers and placed the pot back on its perch. Clenching the Elder Wand tight in his other fist, Harry threw down the powder and called out “The Burrow!”. Green flames sprung up from the grate and engulfed him, before sending him tumbling down into the Floo network.

....................................   

Harry stumbled out of the Weasley’s fireplace a few seconds later, covered from head to toe in black soot. He collapsed into a pile on the kitchen floor of the Burrow – his six years experience of using the Floo not doing anything to make his entrance any more graceful. His ungainly entry startled Mrs. Weasley and Hermione, who were sat at the table, eating breakfast. They both shot up from their seats as soon as he arrived.

“Harry!” They cried in unison. Hermione swiftly moved over to help him up, and withdrew her wand to perform a spell that vanished the soot from his clothes.

“What are you doing here so early? Your meal only starts at four!” Mrs. Weasley said, wringing her hands worriedly.

“I’m more interested in how you got here. What’s going on Harry?” Hermione enquired, shooting him a suspicious look.

Harry extended his hand and showed them the wand that lay there. “I think my magic has come back.”

Hermione and Mrs. Weasley gasped and stared at him.

“How?” Hermione questioned faintly.

Harry shrugged. “No idea. But it might have something to do with the fact that I got the Elder Wand back.”

The two women gasped again and peered more closely at the wand in his hand. After a few seconds, Mrs. Weasley seemed to regain herself and bustled off the far side of the kitchen.

“I’ll make us some tea.” She said in a slightly squeaky voice.

..................................

Harry soon found himself sat on a chair around the Weasley’s crowded kitchen table, clutching a mug of hot tea. The rest of the family had awakened and arrived at the table to greet Harry, before moving on to devour the magnificent breakfast Mrs. Weasley had prepared. After a few minutes of frenzied eating and a brief explanation of the morning’s events, the family settled down to discuss Harry’s new problem.

“So why do you think your magic has come back then?” Ron asked from his seat next to Harry.

“I really don’t know. Maybe it’s something to do with what the healer said about being around a magical place or something?” Harry answered.

Hermione leant in slightly from her place at the far end of the table, where she had been sat quietly, obviously lost in thought, ever since the rest of the family had descended.

“I think it’s something to do with the wand, Harry. I mean you couldn’t use a wand to cast spells yesterday when the healer came to check on you.” Hermione said.

“Maybe I just needed one more day in order to get it back. Or maybe it’s something to do with the fact that it’s my birthday today.” Harry argued, trying to find an explanation that wouldn’t require him to use a wand nicknamed ‘the Deathstick’ for the rest of his life.

“No, I really think it is the wand. I mean, it is the most powerful wand in existence, and you are its true owner. Maybe the extremely high power levels of the wand managed to balance out your extremely low power levels somehow.” Hermione theorised.

“Hey!” Harry protested indignantly.

“Sorry, mate, but you are basically a squib.” Ron sniggered next to him.

“Ronald!” Mrs. Weasley cried, and Ron looked down at the table quickly.

“Anyway, I don’t know about the whole wand thing Hermione. I really think that it’s something to do with my birthday, or staying at a magical place. “Harry objected.

Hermione shot him a sharp look in reply.

“I mean, I could probably still do magic if I just used a different wand.” Harry said innocently, trying not to incur Hermione’s considerable temper.

Hermione frowned, before reaching into her pocket to extract her wand. She handed it to Harry across the table, and then leaned back in her chair. “Use mine then. What spell was it you did this morning?”

“Err...the Patronus charm.” Harry said in a small voice.

“Well off you go then.” Hermione said with a slightly menacing look on her face.

“Oh, okay. _Expecto Patronum!_ ” Harry yelled, and waved the wand in the familiar pattern.

 After a few seconds of nothing happening, Harry lowered his arm and looked down sheepishly at the table. Hermione was looking victorious now.

“Well that rules that out, doesn’t it? Okay, now try it with the Elder Wand, Harry.” Hermione said with a smug smile.

Harry sighed, handed the wand back to Hermione and picked up the Elder Wand. He began wracking his brain for a happy memory, but the only thing that came to mind was the night he had just spent with Malfoy. He tried valiantly to find a different memory, but after being assaulted by several different images featuring himself and the blonde entangled together, he decided to just go with it.

“ _Expecto Patronum!”_ He proclaimed once more. This time, a silvery mist immediately began seeping out of the end of the wand and formed a shadowy shape.

However, the patronus that began to amble up and down the table wasn’t the familiar form of a stag.

It was a cat.

A white, aristocratic- looking cat.

‘ _Oh shit’_ Harry thought, as he watched the cat sit down and begin grooming itself elegantly.

“Err, Harry..?” Ron said in a high, faltering voice, looking intently at the cat.

“It wasn’t like that this morning!” Harry stammered, trying to defend himself. The cat paused in its grooming and shot Harry an almost disdainful look, before jumping off the table and fading out of existence.

“Harry,” Hermione said in a gentle voice, “What happened to your patronus?”

“I don’t know. Like I said, it was a stag this morning and now it’s...” Harry’s voice trailed off.

“A cat.” Ron finished in a faint voice.

“Yeah.” Harry said awkwardly, tugging at the neck of his shirt, which suddenly felt rather tight.

Hermione, who had been staring at Harry intently, as if he was a problem she could solve, spoke up suddenly.”What’s that on your neck, Harry?”

‘ _Oh shit.’_


End file.
